


Actions, Not Words

by kittyyzma



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Rating May Change, characters are OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyyzma/pseuds/kittyyzma
Summary: The War is over, everyone responsible is dead... almost. The new leaders—what's left of the factions—are rebuilding, trying to repair the damage that was done. Tris is caught between her new found responsibilities and feelings she knows she shouldn't have.





	1. Prologue

His jail cell is cold and damp. His bunk is hard and the blanket that is supposed to keep him warm is as thin as his patience for the situation.

He rolls over to his stomach and lets his arm dangle off the edge of the bunk. His finger swirls in a small hole in the concrete and he stares blankly through the plexiglass of his jail cell —he's their zoo animal. He's been counting the sunsets, so he knows it's been 228 days since he's seen the outside of that cell. It's been 232 days since he put a bullet in the back of Jeanine's skull. He's pretty sure he's being held on the outskirts of the city, away from any sort of civilization, waiting. Just waiting for the new city officials to decide what to do with him. Or maybe, just maybe, they're terrified of the day he breaks out of there and their safest bet at keeping other people safe was to have him away from everyone. Either way, he's decided that seclusion sucks, even for him.

He has a toilet, a sink and a toothbrush.

Chicago is rebuilding, trying to understand how their system, their attempts to create peace, have failed. And of course he knows it's because of greed and ignorance, maybe some megalomania on Jeanine's part, and fear. But he solved that problem with a bullet. But did he get a thank you?

No.

He rolls his eyes, smiling to himself because he knows that he's getting what he deserves. He's smiling with bitter acceptance. There's no reason to think that one good deed — as good as murder can be even when necessary — could ever change that he's done more harm than good. Nevermind that he was an impressionable teenager when it was forced on him and many others. It doesn't matter because others haven't done what he has. He's actually killed innocent people.

They call him a sociopath, a person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience. But he's not a sociopath, he can feel for others, and he had, but it didn't outweigh years of being told that divergence was a disease. But someone has to take the fall, and it's going to be him because Max and Jeanine are dead. He's going to take the fall because he's an adult now, never mind that he's the reason The War is over. The other Dauntless soldiers who were loyal to Erudite have already been executed for their crimes, they were lined up at the fence and shot, dumped into mass graves because, how else do you show the rest of society that power still does not belong to them? Nothing has changed, that fact is just overshadowed by the new leaders and their likeability. Abnegation, Amity, Candor, and Dauntless still exist, just under the guise of a united front.

He's been called a psychopath, a person suffering from chronic mental disorder with abnormal or violent social behavior, crazy, again, so messed up in the head he can't control his urge to kill something. But he's not a psychopath. He's free. And it took him a long while to make the decision to liberate himself —and everyone else — from the ironfist Jeanine would have rule with. No one will look at him and say that the system failed him—and the many other teens they force to make decisions that no one should have to make at such a young age — no one will look at him and ask if he was pushed.

He is not to be excused, he's accepted that too. But damn it, he wanted to die with at least some recognition, the whole truth.

"Am I completely deluded?" He asks himself aloud.

He realized that he'd been following the wrong orders a little too late, he knows that too. He'd been ruthless and went along with believing that Divergence was too unpredictable a trait, because in Dauntless, it was his job to make sure that he fought to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. And was it his fault that he hadn't thought about it from a subjective viewpoint? Absolutely. It was his fault that he didn't sit down and ask himself why being different would be considered dangerous to the rest of society and why it was ridiculous. But he trusted Jeanine, he believed that she was trying to eradicate divergence because she knew that they couldn't be controlled. He was ruthless because he'd be damned if he had to sit back and watch the city he grew up in fall apart. But that happened anyway.

He realized that she was afraid a little too late.

And one thing he detests more than being lied to, is cowardice. Jeanine was a coward who was afraid of what she didn't understand. And one thing he refuses to do, is fight for a cause that is built on fear.

"Four, why are we here again?" Tris asks her fellow leader, stopping in her tracks, not ready to head into the round table room, "We aren't going to get anywhere this time."

He exhales harshly in response to her calling him Four and not Tobias. He gives her a stone cold look, as if he's disappointed but doesn't want her to see it. There's no reason for him to try and hide it, however. She can see it every time he looks at her, she can feel it everytime he touches her. There's no hiding. There's nothing either of them can't read from the other, even when they hope to be blind.

He nods Tori as she walks into the conference room, the woman doesn't spare Tris a glance.

"Even if you haven't changed your vote, we still have to have the meeting." Four answers her without even a smidgen of warmth. He pulls his wrist from her grip and pushes the conference room doors open, letting them swing behind him.

Tris presses her palms to her forehead, combing her bangs around, pushing her short hair out of her face. She follows after him, her head held high because she refuses to look intimidated. She's grown a lot in the past two, going on three, years. She refuses to appear weak in front of them.

She smiles at Johanna as she takes her seat next to her. She doesn't look across where Four sits at the 6 o'clock spot. The woman with the scar, Johanna, is clearly trying to be supportive without saying it, but that doesn't help Tris. Four's mother, Evelyn, is staring Tris down, telling her that she better had changed her vote. But Tris hasn't changed her mind and she won't.

Jack Kang clears his throat, sitting at the head of the table across from Four, he adjusts his tie — Tris is unsure why he still wears that Candor uniform when the factions are all left in shambles — but others ignore it. "We all know why we're here." He says clearly, his hands folded on the table. "I hope we can come to a clear decision as to what to do with the prisoner."

"His name is Eric." Tris cut in, making the other leaders watch her. Johanna looks away first, but Tori makes sure her glare lasts and burns Tris. "The least we can do is remember he has a name."

"He's a dog." Tori snapped, "He deserves to pay for all that he's done."

"I'll take that as a yes to his execution?" Tris asks sarcastically, giving Tori the same glare.

"You're damn right." Tori slammed her hand in the table, "I'd put the bullet in his skull myself."

"I understand you're angry about George, but-"

"Angry?" Tori snorts, crossing her arms, "I'm not angry, I'm enraged." If she were an animal, she'd be frothing at the mouth, "He deserves to pay for all the families he's torn apart while helping Jeanine with her crackpot science experiments."

Tris stares at her with the same fire behind her own blue eyes, but she doesn't get the chance to retort.

"That is enough!" Four says darkly, strongly. He has his arms crossed over his chest. Tori — in all her angry girth — falls silent. Despite the fact that she's got at least 15 years on Four, she looks as if she's just been scolded by her father. For his part, Four looks equally livid with Tris. "Tris, he led the soldiers that attacked Abnegation." Four added, clearly not going to mention that they stopped the attack on Abnegation, and clearly not above shaming her in front of others. "Hundreds of children could have died."

"I understand that!" Tris argues, her voice squeaks with emotion. "Are you forgetting that he was groomed to be Jeanine's pet while he was still in grade school? Why is that so easy for you all to ignore?"

"That is not an excuse." Evelyn cut in, speaking for the first time. "He knowingly turned a blind eye to what Jeanine was doing." Tris nearly snorts at Evelyn's comment. Tris doesn't call her out on the fact that she kept things hidden about her husband Marcus - that she ran away and abandoned her son.

"You're sympathizing with a murderer!" Tori yells.

"We're taught to follow orders and never question something when it's for the good of the city." Tris answers, her head shaking as she tries to get some sort of sympathy out of them. "No matter what we want to blame him for, he isn't responsible for everything that led us here, and you all know it." If she really believes that, she's unsure. But knows in her gut that she doesn't hate Eric. She can't.

"His rules led to suicides, attempted murder and more accidents than I can count." Four argues back, and it's like a knife to her heart. Of all the people she'd want to hear her, she'd hoped it would be her boyfriend. But it's as though he's incapable of listening to what she's saying.

"You were also an initiate trainer, or did you forget that?" Tris asks him hotly. She's unabashedly angry with him at this point and everyone at the table can see it. There's fire behind his eyes and she doesn't care. "You act as though it wasn't your job to keep an eye on initiates. You pointed a loaded gun at an initiate just for the fuck of it, to intimidate Peter. Edward was stabbed in the eye. Al jumped from bridge because you failed to see that he was depressed from the very moment he got to the compound. But you couldn't be bothered, could you?" She inhales deeply, trying to reign in her emotions because she's being harsh — unfair even — but she doesn't care as much as she thought that maybe she should. "You've said it to me yourself, you were the one wanted for leadership. Eric did everything that was asked of him but they chose you. You were first pick. You declined. But now we blame him for that? How is that fair, how is that even logical?"

"Tris…" Johanna mutters to her, bringing her back. Four is just staring at her blankly. He can't believe she just said that to him. For a moment, he looks like the Tobias she'd grown to love — he looks concerned, as if he's actually thinking about what she said — but he turns away and Tris knows that the ship has sailed. His hatred for Eric runs too deeply.

Evelyn doesn't move to look at him. Tori has her eyes trained on the table, but if she had laser vision, there would be a hole down to the first floor of the building.

When Tori looks up at Jack — practically begging for him to just call for the vote — Tris looks down into her lap, suddenly feeling ashamed for feeling any compassion for someone who is seemingly emotionless. But she owes Eric her life. "He saved me."

_"What are you going to do when you're done with her?" Eric asks Jeanine as she scrolls through charts on her tablet._

_"It's so strange, I don't see how she thinks so differently. Her charts in comparison to mine or yours, or even Eric's are seemingly the same. But… It's not the same… That's a gorgeous brain," she says, holding the tablet out in front of her, talking to her assistant, "A lot of activity. Jumbled, but still beautiful."_

_That terrifies her._

_Eric looks at her with pure contempt. It took him a while to get to this point — hating her — but he's finally at that point and he can't believe it's taken so long. He bites down his urge to tell her that Tris is a person and that she's gone off the deep end._

_"What are you going to do with her when you've run all your tests?" He asks again, but with a little more bite in his tone._

_"Tell them we're finished for the day." Jeanine looks up at him finally, handing the tablet off to her assistant Alice. "What we always did. Get rid of her. She'll be no use to me after this." He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the words die on his tongue and he has no idea what he even wanted to say. Jeanine is sick. But he's allowed this for so long, so what does that make him?_

_He walks out of the room, leans against the wall. He needs a break, he needs to get away from this. He feels disgusting, and he's not used to that feeling when it crawls up his spine. He presses his fingers into his closed eyes, trying to relieve the pressure. But no avail. He has such a heavy headache._

_He blames himself for this. The war, the death of so many people. He just, he hadn't made his mind up about what to do and it cost people their lives. When he closes his eyes, in his mind and he can still see the bodies of the dead floating in the chasm. He can feel the power that roared through his body every time he's pulled the trigger of a gun._

_Two Dauntless traitors wheel an unconscious Tris out of the lab. He stares at her as she's wheeled away, her head lulls to the side and she opens her eyes. He feels like he'll randomly combust as they make eye contact. He knows she's still unaware of what's going on as she blinks, but that doesn't assuage his guilt. He swears he sees her mouth **help me**._

_There would have been a time when he'd laugh at her for thinking that he — Eric Coulter — would help her but he can't laugh. It's her eyes. There's a glint of an emotion she's never looked at him with before. It's not fear he sees, it's resignation that this will be how she'll die. He can see that she's somehow okay with that._

_He hates himself for a few moments before he realizes that at 21, he can't remember the last time he hasn't hated himself._

_It's late at night, maybe just past midnight when he gets out of his Dauntless issued truck and walks to the side door of the building. He scans his access card and into the building he goes. He doesn't get a single second glance from the Dauntless who are walking up and down the halls. He counted about seven of them before he left earlier. He works his way to the back of the building where he waltz into the security room. There are two men, Sean and Paul._

_Sean waves at him but he doesn't wave back. There's a split second when he really stops to think about what the hell he's doing — that maybe he's the crazy one — but then he remembers that he's tired of this all. He's committed about a thousand crimes punishable by death according to Dauntless Law, so this pales in comparison. He knocks Sean and then Paul unconscious before it even registers to either of them that it's him doing this._

_He slips back out of the room, pulling the door behind him. He's not graceful in his approach but that's fine because grace is for Four, Number Boy. There's a silencer on his gun, which is a godsend when trying to kill people without being caught. But it's almost funny, all the technology they have, and they're still using bullets and loud guns._

_He takes out the two guards on the second floor, stepping over them when they fall. He scans his keycard again and pushes his way into the room where Tris is being held. The door slides back shut behind him. She's lying in the bed when he looks up and sees her. She looks at him with a mix of shock and pride._

_"We need to go, now." He says as he pulls back her bed covers and lifts her out of the bed. She's weak from the drugs they keep her doped up on to make sure she's well rested. It seems counterproductive to him. But he doesn't have time to question it right then._

_He lifts her up and she weakly wraps her arms around him without a hesitation, her face buried in his neck. He's certain she'll be ashamed about that later. As he carries her out of the room, he hears a mic check and role call coming in from the receiver on a downed guard. And that's when the urgency of the situation heightens. It's takes him 10 seconds to get down the stairs. He holds her with one arm and points the other to shoot at the three men coming toward them. He's grazed by a bullet but they make it out of the way. The escape is 10 feet away._

_There's backup being called for, but that would mean others would be leaving their posts outside, which leaves them a small window to get out of the building and back to his truck. And the make it. He's setting her into the driver's side, and she's scrambling to the passenger seat before he can tell her to. He starts the truck and peels down the street, gunshots blast at the vehicle._

"We were coming for you." Four responds. "We were on our way."

"On your way." Tris snorts as she holds her hands over her face, laughing bitterly. "You were nowhere to be found when he dropped me off at the factionless sector."

"You don't owe him anything." Evelyn told her, making her point clear as she looks at Tris. "He's done unspeakable things. Just because he saved you and killed Jeanine doesn't mean he's able to be rehabilitated."

"Rehabilitated?" Tori scoffed, "He's a murderer. There's no disputing-"

"I've killed people. You and Four have too." Tris sighs before inhaling sharply, exhausted by this conversation. "They weren't even aware of what they were doing and we shot them." She closes her eyes for a second and she sees Will lying limp in the middle of the street. She sees Christina's broken expression when she finds out her best friend killed her boyfriend, "Does that mean we should be put to death?"

Silence encapsulates the entire room. No one knows what to say. It's apparent that they were deadlocked again. But this time, things seem a little different.

Jack clears his throat, and breaks the silence. "We should vote. Is Eric to be executed?"

Evelyn nods, without hesitation,"Yes."

Four looks at Tris as he answers, "Yes." There's an apology in his eyes for a moment — he knows how strongly she feels — but he refuses to change his vote based on her feelings. He'll never say that to her, he'll never tell her that he thinks his feelings are more important... he'll never tell her that he doesn't trust her judgement anymore.

"Yes." Tori folds her arms, "He should be." Her brother George is dead because of Jeanine, and damn it, someone is going to take the fall for it.

"Tris?" Jack probes, "Your vote?"

"I vote, no." she steels herself off and holds her head high. She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms defiantly.

Johanna sighs heavily, but a stoic expression settles on her face. "No." She changed her vote. They all look at her, and she remains emotionless. "You created the monster." it's something she says without venom or malice. But it's still out of character for her — an Amity pledger — to blame anyone for the bad that happens. But the way Tris spoke, the way Four reacted so angrily to those words, Johanna knows that there is truth to it. "The woman responsible for all of this is already dead. When does the killing stop?"

"When his head rolls…" Tori responds, her voice is calm, but they can all see that the gears are turning in her head.

Jack takes his time — ignoring Tori's words — staring off at nothing as he presses his lips together. He swivels in his chair, sighs and shakes his head, "I vote no." Tris looks at everyone's shocked faces, but she inhales deeply in relief. She nods her thank you as her throat tightens with her jumbled up emotions, "He was fighting for the wrong cause, but it was for everything that is stated in your Dauntless manifesto. You did this."

"With what reasoning?" Tori asks, standing, her hand slapping down on the table.

Jack rests his hands on the table, he clearly stares at Four when he speaks, "War has made us all people we don't recognize. This is not a time for blame unless you want to place it on everyone."


	2. One

Wake up! blares over the loudspeaker of his cell, it startles him into an upright sitting position. Eric presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, groaning as he shifts and places his feet flat on the cold concrete floor. Doug, a middle aged guard tasked with standing outside of his cell, is rapping his knuckles against the glass — as if he's trying to rouse a big cat at the zoo — he isn't even looking into the cell. He's just trying to annoy the prisoner. "You have a visitor." His voice filters into the cell via the doorknob-sized holes in the glass.

Eric looks up and there she is, with a triumphant look on her face, the corner of her mouth quirked in a smirk. Her hands are behind her back, as she stands at attention, teasing him. He gets off of his bunk and pops his joints. The second sliding door — reinforcement to keep him locked in — opens and she waltzes in with an air of confidence he's not used to seeing her with. "Good morning."

"Here to let me out, or what?" He asks her, despite knowing he's never getting out of there. He leans forward, placing his hands on the glass. She places a hand where his is on the glass and stares at it for a moment. He doesn't look at her with questioning in his eyes like she expects. He'll have to accept that she has some sort of weird fondness for him. Even if he can't understand how, he doesn't question it, not out loud. Whatever it takes to get out of prison, or so he'd say if asked.

She shakes her head, "Not today." She shrugs, but she looks apologetic. "But, I still have good news." She smiles, and it reaches her eyes. "You get to live." He rolls his eyes and she laughs. That makes him smile.

They've been doing this for a while, she's been visiting him for the past 5 months that he's been in there. He knows her favorite color is the deep purple/blue color of the sky at night, she's hates peas — funny considering she grew up in Abnegation— he knows she questions how she can be equally selfless, fearless, and intelligent. She's a Taurus, which makes sense in a lot of ways. He knows she still feels out of place, moreso now that the city is in disarray. She's mad at him for saving her. Why, he doesn't know. But he could see it those first few times she came to visit. She bites her lip when she's nervous, she smiles even when she's unhappy. She keeps cutting her hair shorter and shorter because she wants to see how long it will be before Four tells her to stop. It's currently the length of her pinky finger. Every time she visits, she's in Amity garb. Today it's a long muted red skirt, and a faded yellow t-shirt. Why? Because if she's going to talk to him, she needs to be dressed in happy clothes.

Her favorite food?

Cake.

He knows her a little bit too much. She's his best friend.

He's aware that she's coming from the fifth voting to determine whether or not he gets to live. He's grateful that she's fighting so hard for him, but he doesn't deserve it.

"Yay me." He snorts, looking down at his bare feet.

"Your hair is longer since the last time I saw you." She comments. They'd shaved his head before they put him in there, he remembers seeing how uncomfortable she was when they were doing it. They stripped him of his Dauntless clothes and put him in a white tank top and navy blue sweatpants, essentially giving him back to Erudite before putting him in jail. She'd seen how broken his mother was when they dragged him out of her home in account of his crimes. There is no denying that she loves very much. And Tris had realized then that there must be some sort of redeemable qualities in him. When she saw him hug his mom and kiss his sister's forehead, the toddler clinging to him as he was yanked away, something in Tris broke. He didn't even fight back. And that was the most unnerving part of the whole ordeal. He's accepted everything that's happened.

Tris still remembers turning back and seeing the looks on their faces as they stood in the apartment doorway watching him get dragged down the hallway.

She looks back over her shoulder, staring at Doug as the guard pretends he's not dissecting this whole entire moment.

Eric glances at the guard and then back at her, leaning his face closer to the glass, "And your hair's shorter." She snorts and nods her head. He watches her, his expression soft. "How was it?" He asks, referring to the council meeting.

"Jack and Johanna changed their votes. We're three and three." Tris tells him. Her blue eyes are cold and he accepts that that's all she will say to him about it. He can see the leader in her and he's acutely aware that he's basically factionless despite the color of his clothes. He feels self conscious but tries to hold onto the confidence he had when he was in her place.

"Why are you here?" He asks her quietly, so quietly she struggled to hear him. But he knows she did by the way she stares at him, wide eyed and shocked. He doesn't mean it with malice, she's his only visitor. But she should hate him, she should want him dead. But she doesn't and he doesn't understand. And as a former Nose, he's certain that if there was a logical reason for her to be there, he'd have figured it out already.

She stares at him for a long while, unsure of what to say to him. She'd started going there to just talk to him, to ask him why he'd done all of the things he'd done. And when she yelled at him and he just accepted it, she felt wrong. There was no satisfaction or relief. There was no gratification. All she saw was someone who'd lost everything he'd worked for. She saw someone who realized he'd made choices that most don't have to make or be held accountable for, and accepted it. It doesn't feel right to kick him when he's down. And she's not naive to the fact that he'd deserve that. But she believes in second chances, everyone gets a second chance.

He sees then that she doesn't have an answer that will make sense to him, so she doesn't speak. They're silent for a long time, they end up sitting on opposite sides of the glass, both of them unsure of how to proceed. He's never been in a situation where he doesn't know what to say to a woman. And Tris is a woman.

He'd noticed it over time. Well of course, he'd always known that she was a female, but now, she's a woman. And she makes him uneasy because she's now aware of her own growth. He's not one of those pigs that doesn't want or like confident women — contrary to popular belief — but it's that her confidence is silent and he doesn't even think she knows that it's there. It's not forced like it used to be when she joined Dauntless 3 years ago. She doesn't look like someone trying so desperately to fit in or to be liked. And it's intimidating because he has no idea when it started to have an effect on him.

"Careful, I can see you thinking too hard, Twelve." Tris jokes, narrowing her eyes as she teases him. He snorts, looking down as he studies the hem of his sweatpants as if they're the most interesting thing in that moment. She places her hand on the glass, "What is it?"

"Nothing." He answers without really thinking about it. He shrugs as they make eye contact. "Just…" He pauses and inhales. "Don't you have a life outside of visiting me? Don't you have things to be doing like leading?" He looks down to gather some pride because the intensity she's staring at him with is stifling. She's angry that he's questioning her — he knows that look because he used to get the same one — and when she presses her lips together that way, it's too much. And then her expression falters and he sees her crack.

"Someone should remember you." She tells him, looking him in the eyes. "Everyone wants to erase you from the story, but I remember you. I know you saved me and then helped the rest of us. I remember."

"It doesn't change anything." He says. He's detached from it, like he's not talking about himself.

"You know, I never thought you could be selfless. I never considered you were the way you were. Cold— "

"Ruthless."

"Cold." Tris says adamantly, daring him to argue with her. He smirks. "I never considered that you were just doing what you thought was for the greater good. I never considered that you pushed us because there would be a time when all our training was real. And I know that's stupid, considering we're an army faction, but it didn't seem real."

He leans back on his palms, studying her. There's a second when she looks like the girl from Abnegation, but then it's gone when she looks up at him, directly in his eyes. He's never had someone tell him that they understand him or his actions. He doesn't know if he's worried or not. But it's nice to hear some sort of validation that he wasn't just talking to hear his own voice. Someone noticed him — whether she realized it then — she heard him. "Not until…?"

"Not until it… Was happening." The response is lame, she knows that. But she doesn't know what else to say. Not really."Granted, I never expected that the faction would be split by good and evil. Such a — "

"Cliché?" He laughs, nodding his head. "Yeah." He shrugs a single shoulder, making a face that says oh well. "It is what it is now. I can't change how they view me."

"Yes, you can." She nods. "People are forgiving."

"Not that forgiving." He cackles, brushing a hand over his short hair. He touches a finger to his dermal piercings above his eyebrow, thankful they're still there and someone hadn't ripped them out when they stripped him of everything else. He stands and turns his back to her, staring out the window in the wall next to his bunk. "I am still who I am. And there isn't a soul in this damn city that doesn't know I was Jeannine's pet." He spits the words like they're poison. He doesn't know what made him angry. He's always angry anyway so it doesn't matter. Self hatred is potent and it's like a drug to him at this point. It's his punishment for growing enough of a conscience to do the right thing. The day the feeling fades, he'll probably die.

"I'm sorry." She apologizes, making him — and Doug — nearly choke.

Eric turns and stares at her, his green eyes bore into her blue ones. He doesn't know what to say and it's one of just a handful of times where he's speechless.

"What, I am." Tris insists. He nods and turns back around to throw himself in his bunk. He flips to his stomach and their eyes meet again.

"What for?" He asks.

"For being unable to help."

"Aaah, I'll be alright." He smirks at her, propping his head up in his hand. He doesn't tell her that she's done enough, or say thank you because maybe that would be too nice. And he may not be evil but he's definitely not nice. He doesn't want her to think that he is either. She's definitely his best friend when comparing his relationships, but he's trouble and he doesn't want her to forget that. "How's Toby?" He asks teasingly, giving her the leering, leader smile she's grown accustomed to seeing.

"Four is fine." She tells him and he chuckles mischievously because he knows she would have shoved him if she could have. She's lying to him of course. And they both know it.

Four isn't stupid — not in the traditional sense — he knows Tris visits Eric. Every leader knows. Both Eric and Tris know that Four feels disrespected by it and just won't say.

"I'm sure he is." He says aloud, talking to himself more than he is to her. He gives her a sideways glance, "Does he know you're here… Does anyone?"

Tris yawns, holding her hand over her mouth as she draws in a breath. With a sway of the head, she confirms what he already knows. Four knows she'd rather spend her time entertaining a prisoner than be around him. She rolls her eyes at the smug look on his face. "You don't have to pretend you know?"

He knows what she's talking about but he won't tell her that. "Come again?"

"You don't have to fake it with me. I know you aren't a jerk naturally." She says it so matter-of-factly that he almost can't laugh. Almost. He is a jerk. He held her best friend over the chasm to make a point. He went along with Jeanine's harebrained — yet equally masterful — schemes with little thought for a long time. He is a jerk. And maybe a reckless one at that.

"You sound so sure of that." He notes, leering at her like he's supposed to be making her feel small but she just glares at him. She considers him for a moment, just letting her eyes trail over him and she sees him get uncomfortable and then she smirks, like she's won the game he didn't even know he started.

He stops and clears his throat. "A few good deeds does not a hero make."

He dips his chin with a sideways tilt of the head as he accepts defeat. She grins. And it's like 16 year old Tris is back again. He didn't know her as well as he could have then — or should have, considering he was supposed to find a reason to put a bullet in her head — but he thinks he has a pretty good idea of what makes her tick now that he's had pleasant conversations with her. An odd look settles on her face and he can only describe it is as infatuation. And it's bad. It's so bad.

She shouldn't look at him with any sort of affection whatsoever and it should never be fondness. Perhaps it's innocent in nature, that's acceptable. The problem lies in his inability to be nurturing in any sense of the word. He crushes things. That's what he does, he destroys. She seems to be the only person who can't see that. He's failed to get her to see it. She's too passionate, too deep, too complex to be hurt by him, she doesn't deserve that. And it's what will happen. He's hurt others beyond reparation, but she's under the impression that he won't hurt her, or at least that he won't do so intentionally. And he won't, he's passed hurting people for fun, that doesn't mean it won't happen.

"Don't look at me like that…" He groans, pressing his fingers into his temples as he sits up. He brings right foot up onto the bunk and rests his chin on his knee.

He misses the fleeting panic in her eyes. She sucks in a breath, scolding herself for being so transparent. However, she recovers well. "Like what?" She seems confused. Her eyes are wide and her head is tilted to the side as she leans back on her hands. She's saved herself. Having fun she mockingly copies him when he narrows his eyes. He realizes that she knows exactly what she's doing to him. She looks amused and he's never hated her as much as he does right then.

He closes his eyes and exhales as he laughs. Accepting that she's messing with him. "I deserved that." He'll let her have her fun.

She stands and dusts off the back of her long Amity skirt. She looks at her watch, it's just past 5 in the morning. "How early is it this time?" He asks.

"Early." She shrugs and stifles a laugh when he gives her an annoyed look. He stands from bed — if it can even be considered a bed — and he walks toward the barrier between them. She smiles up at him and sticks three fingers in one of the holes — because while she can fit her entire hand through if she wanted, he can't — resting her chin on her hand. He places his same three fingers over her's. He knows he shouldn't because contact is personal, but she's his only personal connection to the outside world and she keeps him sane. She laces their fingers together as a sign of… Good faith. She pulls away. "I have to go."

He knows. "Yeah."

"Okay." She pulls away, placing her hand on the glass and he mirrors her, smiling at her in a way he'd only ever smile at her.

She taps her fingers on the second door, and Doug signals for it to be opened. She looks back at Eric, expecting him to be looking at her. But he's not, he's turned away, walking back to his bed. She looks down and walks toward the exit of the secluded hallway reserved for his cell.

People stop what they're doing when they see her. It's supposed to be out of respect but she just feels like she's interrupting their days when she shouldn't be. She exits the large building, walking toward the truck Johanna lets her borrow. She pulls the key from under her bra strap and unlocks the door, climbing into the driver's seat.

She lays her arms across the top of the steering wheel and she takes a minute to rest her forehead on her forearms. She always needs to take a minute to process what she's doing. And every time she's says she'll stop showing up to see him, it's only a matter of days before she realizes that she's taking a train up to amity to borrow a truck and then she's headed west to see him. She rests her chin on her arms and stares off into the early morning darkness.

Tris takes a breath and then starts the truck. She drives down the dirt road, headed for Amity.


	3. Two

"So, Eric is well?" Christina asks Tris. She plops onto Tris's couch, throwing her feet up onto the coffee table.

Tris stalls in the kitchen, her hands frozen over the sink where she's washing a few apples she'd picked up at the market earlier that day. Christina hates Eric — most people do — so it's taking Tris a few moments to really comprehend what's happening. She stares at the wall, unsure of what to say. "Uh…" She looks over her shoulder, in the general direction of the living room, "Yeah."

"Good." Christina nods, combing her shoulder length hair behind her ear and over to the side. She throws herself back ways bitterly, her neck contorts awkwardly.

Tris laughs at her when she enters the room and sees Christina slouched on the leather sofa. "What're you doing, Chris?"

"Thinking."

"About what exactly?" Tris sits with her feet beneath her butt, biting into the large apple. The fruit crunches and she pulls back to examine it for a few seconds before she goes back to paying attention to her best friend and then to chewing.

"Why sticking up for Eric is so important to you." Chris answers honestly, ignoring how awkward her friend just looked. She sits up straighter and turns her body toward Tris, "I mean, I get that he saved you from Jeanine's evil clutches. And then he killed her… But… I don't really think he's been redeemed." She answers candidly, peering over at Tris — who seems a little too enthralled by her apple— waiting for a response. She purposely doesn't mention the chasm incident because it seems juvenile when compared to the other stuff.

Tris swallows hard, wincing because it was too soon, opening her mouth to reply. "I want to believe he can change." She is smooth with her delivery. She chooses to be direct because there's no point in trying to come up with some other answer. "After talking to him for these past several months, I think he has."

"But has he been redeemed…" Christina probes, leaning her arm over the back of the couch. "do you think he can be? He's caused so many people so much pain."

Tris takes the time to really think about what she wants to say next. Any wrong word or slip of the tongue and she knows she'll sound like an idiot. And she doesn't want to sound like someone who has too much faith in him. While she's young and knows she's should be allowed the luxury, she doesn't want to give Christina — or anyone else — the opportunity to say that she's living in some little girls fantasy where everything can be fixed. That's not what she wants. She doesn't know exactly what it is that she wants. Tris just knows that Eric doesn't deserve to die. She doesn't believe anyone deserves to be killed the way that Dauntless Law says he should — without a chance to even try to better himself. That's not justice.

"We haven't given him a chance to show that he can be redeemed or changed…" She places her half eaten apple on the side of her knee, "or whatever the fuck they want him to do to show that he's not dangerous." She looks up from trying to balance the fruit, catching eyes with Chris. She's ready to give an apology for sounding rude, it's on the tip of her tongue. But her best friend is looking at her like she's amused and a little impressed.

Their friendship is one that Tris is certain should be over. Not because she doesn't value Chris as a friend, but, she shot and killed Will. Will is dead because she shot him. But Christina forgave her and it's something she can't quite understand. It's almost funny. Not that Will is dead, or that Christina forgave her, but because she's fighting so hard to get people to forgive Eric for the bad things he's done and yet she can't forgive herself for her own mistakes.

She still has nightmares about everything that happened. It's part of the reason she always sees Eric early morning. She barely sleeps.

"So he gets to live until the next voting?" Christina asks curiously, still processing Tris's first reply.

Tris shakes her head, "There won't be another. There's been five already. And I'd say we're hopelessly deadlocked." She bites into her apple, and continues but with her hand over her mouth, "I'm surprised Four and Tori aren't trying to push for the execution harder. By Dauntless Law— "

"They'd have killed Eric already." Christina concludes. "Four happy about this?" She asks, knowing the answer is no, but still wanting a response.

Tris gives her a look, she takes a breath in to keep from laughing, "No. Not at all." She shrugs, taking her almost finished apple and placing it on the coffee table. "There's not much going on with us recently."

"Because you spend all your time on the outskirts of the city… Visiting the man he hates… Who's also a war criminal." Christina laughs, hugging a couch pillow to her chest. Tris rolls her eyes.

There's so much to think about when she weighs the pros and cons of openly engaging in friendly talks — which she happens to enjoy — with Eric. Like whether or not she'll be disappointed in the end of the whole ordeal. Because disappointment is possible on both ends of the separate paths, she ignores logic and goes with feelings. And her emotions are telling her that she's neither wrong nor right. She just exploring. She hates this conversation. It's the same one she's had over and over again. She knows people disagree with her choice to be friends with Eric — many have said so more times than is necessary — and it's a redundant point in conversation because Tris isn't going to change her mind on it. She's too stubborn for her own good — a bad thing most of the time — but maybe she's waiting to be disappointed.

She's honestly been intrigued by the older man for years, but she's also afraid of what it makes her. Is she a monster? Is she doomed to suffer in the afterlife because she finds herself being enthralled by Eric Coulter? Is she just a terrible person or just plain stupid? She doesn't know. But she's tired of everyone looking at her like she's supposed to.

And maybe she is. But she's just tired of people expecting things from her. She just fought in a war. She was abducted by Jeanine Matthews to be poked and prodded. And then people have the gall to judge her for doing what she wants. She thinks about this a lot. What expectations she has for herself and the ones others have for her. She's been appointed leader and she didn't want it, and somehow ignoring her responsibilities is perplexing to Four, Evelyn, and feels wrong to make a judgement of Eric's actions. But he definitely doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt — or so everyone says — but she gives it to him anyway because after The War, everything is backwards. Life as they all know it has been changed. And everyone has to reevaluate what has happened in their lives. Just because they are trying to take the representatives from every faction and meld them together as one unit, doesn't mean she wants to be a part of it.

The Erudite compound has been a ghost town save for the labs but no one stays there overnight. It's unnerving to think that there aren't really any factions left. Aptitude tests are done for, the choosing ceremony has been passed over, and people from different factions intermingle freely. Faction before blood is just another saying that shouldn't have existed in the first place. And it's weird because she's trying to find a purpose, and she knows that maybe she's latched onto this Eric issue because it's something to think about — that had nothing to do with her — but now she's attached and wouldn't feel right letting go of it... of him.

So essentially, she is settling herself to be hurt. He hurts people, and she knows that. That's not up for debate. But she still really wants to believe that he can be different. It's a recurring thought in her head. And every time she talks to him, she hopes that she sees the difference in him. But he's perplexing and complex and then she thinks that she's crazy, possibly.

Christina waves her hand in front of his face, smiling at her friend sympathetically, "You okay in there?"

"Am I crazy?" Tris' eyes snap to her friends. She would normally try to hide what she's thinking, but she's always been too transparent for that.

Christina watches her for what seems like forever. It's as though she's trying to find a way to be nice with her answer. As a former candor, it's difficult to tone down her bluntness. But right now, she can see that Tris needs support not a tongue lashing or a million and one questions thrown at her. So she just shrugs and smiles for a couple moments. It's the most strained silence between them in a while because what can she say that would deter Tris anyway?

"I think that…" She pauses and takes a moment to breathe because she started to speak before she had really decided on what to say. Tris looks at her expectantly, practically begging her for an answer. "I think that you could be looking for something you won't find in him."

Tris looks like she's processing what Christina just said, and then the look in her eyes hardens like Christina only confirmed something for her. Its determination. "Regardless of if it's what I want to find or not, I want to find something."

Chris mulls the response over, looking up at the ceiling as she leans back on the armrest. "Understandable."

She can see the unrest on Tris' face. Like her best friend is trying to convince herself that she's prepared for everything when she's clearly not. But Chris has come to learn that while Tris is actually brilliant, she thrives under pressure because she doesn't have time to think about anything else. However, when she does have time, she thinks too much and over analyzes everything to the point where she can't remember where she started out.

"Would you believe me if I said that I hate him?" Tris asks, just for curiosity's sake.

Christina laughs. "No. Why?"

"Because sometimes he looks at me like he can't believe that it's me who shows up to see him." Tris' voice is soft, as if ashamed of the admittance. And Chris can't really think of why. Tris blinks — like she's on the verge of tears — overwhelmed by a rush of emotions. "And it's like… I just… I think about how it must have felt to be him. To be hated for doing what you're told was right…"

"But who thinks murder is right?" Christina asks, lost. She — like many others — can't understand why Tris is caught up on his mindset instead of his actions.

"It wasn't just like he went around killing people." Tris argues. "We were all taught that being divergent was dangerous. But imagine having Jeanine drill that into your head for so long. Erudite is supposed to be the faction the knows their shit, right? And dauntless is supposed to be the faction that protects us, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So why would he have questioned thinking he was doing the right thing?" Tris asks. She's just playing devil's advocate, or she thinks. "What he's done is awful, but nobody seems to wanna know why…"

Christina heaves a tired sigh, suddenly aware she's not getting anywhere in this. Eric is a lost cause in her mind. "Curiosity killed the cat, Tris"

"But satisfaction brought it back." Tris counters smoothly.

"It's easier to just let it be." Chris argues back, though she's slightly amused by her friend's response. "Why dredge it all back up?"

Tris simply stares at her, words circling in her head. There's nothing she can say that will make anyone agree with her, and that's fine. It doesn't change her mind.


	4. Three

 

There's a numbness that took over as soon as Eric accepted the perpetual boredom that is prison. He stares at the walls — sometimes out the one plated glass window they've allowed him — wondering when someone is going to go against the voting to spare him and come put a bullet in the back of his head. Then again, some would think that was merciful in a way. Killing him. He knows there has to be people out there thankful that he's sitting in a cell, holding on to a notion that he thinks about the things he's done for every moment of every day.

And he doesn't. He actively tries not to. Not because he thinks he doesn't deserve that kind of self punishment but because he knows that after a while, there's nothing left to say to himself. He's covered all the bullet points. He's stolen life and aided in crushing it. He has to live with that. But he'd like to keep a semblance of sanity — which that too, he knows he doesn't deserve — and again he realizes how boring this whole thing is. The repetitive nature of self loathing is boring.

He's used to the cycle now, gone through it over and over again that he can't really identify where it ends or starts; where the self hatred began, what it feels like to recognize unhealthy thoughts about oneself. He lives with it, carries it like a badge of his time in Dauntless. That history is a part of him, and by proxy, a part of the people who've known him. Whether they like it or not, people stood by and watched the status quo disintegrate right in front of them. He tells himself that nothing happens overnight. And when he lets himself be, he reminds himself he wasn't in it alone.

But Max would have let him take the fall. And Jeanine was definitely prepared to throw him to the wolves.

The truth is simple. Eric is glad they're dead. He's glad he's sitting in prison. There's not much surprises when he's alone. He knows how the day is going to go. Sleep, eat, exercise to keep him from losing his mind, more sleep, eat, repeat. Somewhere in there, Tris comes to visit.

He's going to admit it to her at some point, he's decided. Tris is the one light in this mess of a situation. And he's always known it, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He always knew she was going to figure it out and pull the plug. He didn't think it would be literal and figurative at the same time. But he supposes that's fine too.

He rubs the scar at the back of his calf, where Tris had shot him. He remembers that it was then he realized she wasn't going to go down without a fight. Before then, she was just Four's girlfriend — someone with so much untapped potential, someone hiding from who she was — that Eric pitied her. Of course, she turned everything on its head. She is subsequently the reason he was locked up in hell, but he didn't blame her for it. She's ultimately Chicago's liberator. They just don't know it yet.

Doug's knuckles rap on the glass, "Shower time."

Eric takes his time to stand while the glass door locking him in opens. Doug enters, with reinforcements, and they surround him. Shackling his hands and feet, Doug pushes him forward. The second wall is opened and they head down the hall.

Eric always drags his feet, they don't taunt him anymore. The first time, he fought, broke a few bones — before he accepted his fate — and took a club to the back of his head for his troubles. Tris got him out of that mess. He's not sure how. But as a leader, no one asks her questions. That much, he knows from experience. In this new convoluted mess everyone is pretending will work out as the new government, everyone is just hoping the new leaders know what to do. Everyone is afraid of the dangers that lurk around the corner. But they all hope Eric is the last of it. And for some reason he can only pinpoint as intuition, he knows he's not, there's always more because when it rains, it pours.

 

* * *

 

 

 

"So we're not going to talk about it?" Tobias asks, looking out the window of the truck Tris has been using. For some reason, she let him drive — she always accepts that he's willing to pull rank — even though they are equals and for all intents and purposes, it's her truck.

"Nope." Four hates that she can speak with so much finality, and not even realize. He wants to talk about the meeting, but like with everything else, he wants it on his terms. She's just recently decided she can say no. It all started with Eric and her inability to leave well enough alone. "If you're going to yell at me about the voting, about me going to see him, then no. I don't want to talk about it."

Tris doesn't understand why he's suddenly going to bring it up. Eric is a subject that causes problems for them. They're both unrelenting. But it's only now that Four has decided he's going to address it. Tris isn't impressed. Then she recalls that they're going to see Evelyn. Tris is sure the woman can detect the level of humidity in the air, so of course she could sense if her only son is upset, even if she did leave him when he was young.

Tris is the enemy who sympathizes with people convicted of high treason.

"I don't like it."

Tris snorts, pressing her elbow to the open window and her face to her palm. She looks at him skeptically for a moment before she goes back to staring at her reflection in the side mirror. She looks tired. She is tired. War will do that to a person. It's a tried and true fact. But she is also tired of she and Four acting as if they're fine. He treats her like a project, and she resents him. It was bound to happen.

"You don't like it?" She asks with a scoff.

She's gotten more abrasive, years worth of time in Dauntless will also do that. It happened right under his nose and he denied it because people from Abnegation don't ever really change. They don't come into their own. The problem with that sort of thinking is forgetting that Tris only ever pretended to be a good abnegation girl. She's always been Dauntless — a little bit of Erudite mixed in — and he's simply ignored it.

She regards him with anger he's not sure how he stirs up, "You know what I don't like?" It's obviously rhetorical, but he rolls his eyes nonetheless because he can't believe she's getting emotional about Eric. "I don't like that you pick a fight with me about this every time. I don't like that you argue with me right before we have to see your mother…"

"What are you talking about?" He sputters, nearly pulling to a stop because he really cannot drive and refute her properly at the same time.

Tris presses her hands to her face because this isn't something she wants to do. But she takes a breath, drops her hands and continues, "You argue with me before we're around your mom. You know she doesn't like me, she can sense when something is off. And of course it's never your doing."

"My mother doesn't like anyone." Four argues, shaking his head. "She doesn't trust." They both know why, the last person she trusted was her husband. That didn't turn out well for her.

Tris groans, exclaiming with her annoyance because of course he missed the point. "Whatever, ignore my point…"

"Fine." Four shrugs, "You want to talk about things we don't like…" he starts. They always end up talking about what he originally wanted to get to anyway. "I don't like that you're sneaking off to see Eric."

"I know." She challenges him, looking him dead in the eye. "He talks to me… looks at me with respect."

Four scoffs, unable to hold back. "You go talk to a prisoner almost everyday simply because he pretends to respect you? He's manipulating you."

"And why would he do that?" Tris asked, growing tired of the conversation. "I clearly can't get him out."

"But you want to." Four says, and it's like time slows when Tris looks up at him. It's out in the open now. Four adjusts how he's sitting in the front seat, turning toward her. He points at her, the accusations themself apparent in his expression alone. "If someone brought it up at the leaders meeting, you'd show no objections."

Tris opens and closes her mouth, trying to come up with a claim that didn't make her sound like a liar. The truth is however, not that simple. She knew she didn't want Eric to die, she didn't know much else. She's been too wrapped up in trying to keep him executed. "That's not fair."

Four laughs, shaking his head as he looks away. He'd wanted her to deny it — to tell him that it isn't true — but she couldn't do it. "Not fair?" His brows furrow and he has a really hard time composing himself. "What's not fair is you parading around here, heart on your sleeve… sympathizing with a murderer while the families of his victims are forced to see and hear about it. You've never even thought about them— "

"Stop." Tris yells, slamming her hand on the dashboard. "How dare you try and turn this around on me!" Her hands shake with her anger. He's effectively made her look like the bad guy. He knew her intentions weren't to spit in the face of the survivors of the war. He knew that. Hell, she was very much a part of that specific group that was being targeted. "It's not black and white."

"But it is." Four argued, "Can't you see? It is. It's that simple. People are angry and hurt. They don't need the extra information."

"Extra information?" Tris laughs bitterly. "You know I've never agreed with keeping any of this a secret. For what? We've started wars over people being different and that's not need to know?"

Four stay quiet, staring at the road head. This doesn't feel like a victory to her, not even a small one.

"I have at least a hundred like this one." Evelyn tells her son, ignoring Tris as if she isn't even there. They wear scarves wrapped around their necks, lifted to cover their mouths, shielding their faces from germs. "Don't know what it is that's causing them to get sick… but it's getting out of hand. They're starting to think it's a ploy to dwindle factionless numbers."

"Mom, I told you…" Four starts, looking down at the little bow they're standing over. He wants to squat next to him and push his hair from his sweaty forehead. He looks at his mother, "You aren't factionless, you're all welcome to go back to your factions of origin."

"You think the sentiment alone will work?" She asks, ushering them from the makeshift hospital in a building that is months from collapsing on itself. Factionless line the streets, all with varying degrees of anger in their eyes for the two young leaders. "I have to tell you son, I'm having a hard time believing you when you say it."

"It's true. You were all given a choice." Tris musters up enough courage to speak. Evelyn makes her nervous. And she really wishes she knew why.

Evelyn's eyes cut to her, her jaw tense. "The first decision given to them is whether or not they want to go back to factions they do not trust."

"There are no true factions." Tris argues. It's the truth though, the factions are in shambles. Everyone is only pretending nothing happened. The people of the city have all learned to ignore things, to hold on to peace. "You can go back."

"To abnegation?" Evelyn sputters, offended and hurt. "Where my husband maintains his innocence…" she shakes her head, as if talking to herself. Four gives Tris a look, and she feels like a young child being chided for bringing up a buried topic. "Abnegation was never my home."

Tris's stomach sinks, "Sorry. I didn't mean-"

"These people are sick and dying. They're growing wearier by the second, and I'm not sure I disagree with them." Evelyn stares them in their faces, as if daring them to call her out on her sentiments. Tris regards her with her jaw slack in shock.

"Well, be sure to bring up your concerns at the next meeting, Mother.." Four's tone presents a challenge, one asking Evelyn if she really wants to go down the road of questioning the new regime — if inciting more unrest is such a bright idea when people are already prepared to react without any real thought. More death is something no one should want to see.

Tris looks between mother and son, wondering if they'll ever really repair anything. Four sees Evelyn as a victim and as someone who abandoned him. Evelyn is unapologetic in her new stance as a cold and confident leader who is strong for her people among the factionless. She speaks for them, people who see themselves as weak when she has grown to be strong and unrelenting. They gave her power where Marcus took hers away. She and Four dance around the fact that they have addressed nothing.


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter is shorter than I wanted it to be but it serves its purpose. There's no Eris interaction in this chapter, no Eric at all. But I wanted to pick up from the last chapter and introduce another familiar character. I hope you enjoy.

Tris smiles at her brother as she walks into the lab in Erudite. He's sitting in a swivel chair and his expression is pleasant but he doesn't quite smile back. As he stands from his seat, he tells his supervisor that he's taking a quick break and that he'll be back.

"Long time." He finally says to her, approaching where she stands in the doorway.

"Yeah." She breathes out, accepting the awkward side hug he gives her. "What are you all working on in here?" She asks, looking around the room. The lab is clean, the white counters are organized and the lab coats all the researches are wearing are starkly white over their blue shirts.

They both know all she has to do is log into her computer and check the logs, but she won't.

"Just the normal stuff." Caleb responds nondescriptly. He gives her an easy smile — one for her benefit more than for his. "Mind if we stop by the recreational room before we head out to the courtyard?"

"No, not at all." Tris shakes her head. She gives a wave to the few of Caleb's coworkers that notice them.

She regards her brother with a pleasant, though a tight lipped smile — one he's used to— as they enter the hallway. There are fewer people in the building, and even fewer young people when compared to other factions. The last few classes of initiates have returned to their homes, either to their parents or with friends. But the faction itself is one on the outs. The research they do, and the teaching in schools they do is important but there's a stigma left behind — it almost feels like an omen — from Jeanine and her team's body of work. Tris herself doesn't really understand what gratification Caleb gets out of staying. But then again, there's nothing for either of them to go back to in Abnegation. Their mother and father are dead. And what they died for — to save her — goes unmentioned.

Their relationship took a wide turn after they'd chosen two different factions. And the damage he'd done during the craziness, she thought would be irreparable. But he was still her brother. And with both their parents dead, gone and never to return, he was all she had. He is all she has.

He collects his lunch, and offers her a bottle of carbonated water. She nods and takes it from him as they exit the small kitchen in the rec center.

She's allowed herself to look around the place as they exit to the front of the Erudite building. So many lives had been lost around there, bodies littered around the streets, Dauntless, Erudite. She remembers them — maybe not who they were or what they were like as individuals, but she remembers collecting them — and her stomach lurches each time. She also remembers what she'd been subjected to while Jeanine kept her there. A sour taste fills her mouth, as if she's going to vomit, but she squares her shoulders. Her fingers itch to grab the gun in the waistband of her pants — a reminder that it is indeed there, and she wouldn't be able to pull the trigger if by some not-so-unbelievable stretch of the imagination she'd need to use it.

She sees Will's face. And again, her body threatens a reaction.

If her sibling across from her notices her inner battle, he doesn't show it. And she knows that he does see it. There's no way he doesn't. But he's never been one to put her on the spot — their history, however dark and convoluted in she past couple years, does nothing to make her believe he doesn't know her. "So what's up?" Caleb asks when they settle at a white painted picnic table. He unfolds his lunch, a simple sandwich he undoubtedly threw together at the last minute. Natalie would have been mortified. Tris places her chin on her fist, lifting her shoulder to shrug at him. "You didn't schlep all the way over here for nothing did you?"

"The train ride isn't that long." Tris retorts, her eyes twinkling with sass. Her brother rolls his eyes and flicks his thumb at the corner of his mouth to clean it off, sticking his finger in his mouth to lick whatever it was away. She laughs. He could be such a boy. They were forced to grow up so quickly in their city. And with the terrors they've experienced or played a part in, she's glad he's relaxed into this new life.

"You look tired, Bumble Bea." Caleb says it so casually — the childhood nickname he'd call her when no one else was paying attention — and a wave of sadness and nostalgia wipes over her. "Sorry." He leans over his lunch, hoping she doesn't bite his head off.

Tris feels tears prick the corners of her eyes. She presses the heels of her palms in her eyes. She thinks back to her life before her choosing ceremony; before she was divergent, when she was just a moody teenage girl just trying to fit in. So much has changed in just a couple years. And she can't remember when or why it was suddenly so different. She hates feeling that way and wants everything to be simple.

"You haven't called me that in… years." She finally responds, stopping him mid bite into his lunch.

"You'd hit me with the nearest, softest pillow every time I said it." Caleb recalls with a reminiscent chuckle.

"I was too kind to you Caleb Prior."

He's silent for a few moments, feeling regret pool in his belly as he remembers some of the strain he's caused on their familial bond, the way he'd sold her and others up the river out of fear. "You still are… too kind to me."

She settles her hand over his, "You've made your mistakes." Tris knows he still beats himself up over what he'd played a part in, telling Jeanine anything about his sister, telling the woman where Tris had been hiding out in Amity. But what's done is done. "We're family. You're all I have left Big Brother."

Part of her is sad that that is true. That he's all she has left in this godforsaken life. That shouldn't be the truth of it. But it is. It's just the two of them. If push comes to shove, she'd make sure he made it out. No matter what's been done, she can't hold a grudge. It's not what her parents would want. She wakes up in the morning, puts one foot in front of the other, because her parents didn't sacrifice their lives just so she could throw hers away.

"I am tired." Tris admits. Her smile is sad and he regards her with the same smile.

"Not warming to your new position?" He asks. Everyone knows she's on the new ruling committee. She's fought it tooth and nail so far. And yet…

"I don't want to." She admits a moment later. And really, it's not the look that he gives her that makes her recoil. It's that she knows that she sounds like a brat. But she can't possibly be effective as a leader if she has no desire to be one.

"Why?"

"What have I done to earn it?" She asks rhetorically. "All I did was survive like everyone else."

"You fought." Caleb is relentless, he won't let her pity herself. He knew how little self pity helped "You saved lives."

"I took them too."

"That wasn't your fault." He sets his lunch aside and rubs his fingers into a napkin. "We've all done things we're not proud of. You can't run away from it. So take the time you have now to make a difference." That's all he's ever really wanted. To feel like he's done something important. That desire had been manipulated and he's not proud of that but all he can do now is continue to try and reach his goal.

Tris presses her hands to her face and exhales. As she looks back up, she smiles at him for his effort to make her feel better.

And then she remembers why she was there in the first place. The time she spent in the factionless sector grates on her nerves and she's still uneasy. "Caleb."

"What?" He asks with a mouthful of food. His brow quirks at the way her expression doesn't change from the stony determination she's put on. "What's wrong?"

"Theoretically… if someone wanted to wipe out an entire faction, could it be done by infecting them with a sickness?"

"It's possible." Caleb nodded wearily. He folded his hands over his chest. "But everyone save for children who are too young, have been vaccinated for illnesses that would pose that kind of deadly threat."

"And if someone decided to make their own, or weaponize… like, the flu or something." She didn't know what it could possibly be, but the thought of someone spreading disease to get rid of a certain group made her uneasy. Another battle between them all wasn't needed.

Caleb hummed, "It's possible." He didn't want to sound like a broken record. But he didn't want to lie either. It wasn't out of the realm of reality — erudite it self had the means to spread that kind of attack. "That person would have to have access to a lab, and have the means to travel undetected between here and wherever it was being spread." He shook his head, pausing. "Wait…why are you asking me this?"

"I said theoretically." Tris responds. She knows it's a lame one at that but Calen relents. "It can be done though?"

"Yes."


	6. Chapter 6

Tris breathes hard as she punches the bag in the training facility. She’s sweaty from exertion and her knuckles are sore from striking. She really should tell Four what Caleb told her—she needs to acknowledge that his mother’s concern was possible—but there’s fear in her heart of what will happen if she does say it out loud. 

(Seeing Caleb is a whole other can of worms to be opened between she and her boyfriend. And God, she really needs to decide what she’s going to do about this relationship between her and Four. She’s been avoiding it for weeks.)

She and Tobias are in a tough spot in their relationship and she admitted to herself a long time ago that it’s not what it once was—and more importantly, she latched on to him and was afraid to let go for fear of being alone in a new faction it was selfish. But that’s the truth she’s acknowledged. She just hasn’t figured out how to tell him. She fears he won’t take no for an answer. He believes they’re meant to be together forever. The idea of them being soulmates was a thought she’d had once, that they  _ should _ be together forever, but it was a naive pipe dream. There was no uncertainty on her part, she and Four have been done for a long while. 

She still cares about him, he’s her first love and he deserves some decency in the way she’ll end it. But she’s never been all that nurturing—though, always a person who believed in fairness. Part of her feels too immature to give him that courtesy and now, she’s not sure how she feels about that admittance or how it makes her look. 

“You missed dinner…” Four’s voice breaks through through the monotonous sounds of her fists punching the heavy bag. He’s quite good at just showing up places; she has a sneaking suspicion that he can tell when she’s been thinking of him. 

Tris breathes hard, eyes closing as she realizes they were supposed to meet over dinner in the mess hall and discuss the progress the faction has been making. She combs the fringe of her shortly cut hair, exposing her sweaty forehand. “I’m sorry… genuinely,” she adds as a clear, distinct apology. 

It’s rare she actually says that she’s sorry without meaning it and so he gives a thin smile and she feels slight relief—the bickering they’ve been doing is unbecoming of them both.

He hums, a nod accompanying the noncommittal sound, staring at her for a moment. “You’ve been in here, this whole time?” 

“Lost track of how long…” she says, uncertain of what to really say because professional courtesy aside, she doesn’t feel _all_ _that_ torn up about it. She doesn’t want the job. Besides that, she apologized and if they dwell, they’ll argue. 

“Now’s as good a time as any.” Tobias takes up leaning on the wall behind where she’s been practicing her strikes. He folds his arms and hikes a foot up the wall. It seems unnatural to her, watching him try and appear not to care that she can let activities involving him slip from her mind so easily. 

“Okay.” She grabs her towel from the floor and wipes her face, and tries not to wince as she dabs her knuckles. He glances down, but says nothing—she hasn’t let him help her in what feels like ages and he knows better than to offer today when they are tense with one another.  

Tris sits and folds her legs, her back against the wall. He looks down and her, noting the space between them. “I didn’t mean  _ here _ .” 

“ _ Now _ implies that you meant right here…” she says, voice even but not as flat as her tone can be. He rolls his eyes and slides down the wall, mirroring the way she’s sitting, but in addition folds his arms and crosses his ankles.  

“We need to talk about what my mother said, the factionless are falling ill.”

“I know…” she replies, a gentle lilt in her tone so she doesn’t come off as combative. 

“Beatrice…” he sighs, not meaning to fight, but realizes he’s going to start a fight if he’s uncareful. Calling her by her birth name… it just never works to the effect he hopes. 

“I was there… I know what’s happening.” She defends, not taking the bait he’s thrown. 

Four continues, “There aren’t any recent logs showing that the factionless have been getting vaccinated.” He did some digging, strong arming a response from some of the Erudite medical clerks. 

She looks down into her lap, muttering, “She didn’t mention anyone going—“

“We haven’t taken a vote one what practices we’ll keep.” He shrugs,talking over her, “No one is going to volunteer to go vaccinate the factionless.”

Tris sighs, massaging her knuckles. She knows he’s right. Everyone is being cautious—intent is easily skewed when emotions are high. 

He glances at her, causing her to pause and quirk her brow at him. “You’ll choke on that comment you’re holding back… spit it out.”

“We’ve been spending all our time discussing Eric.” 

Tris’s mouth flattens as she stares at Four, slightly spurned, but she nods and exhales a breath meant to be calming. “Okay.” She’s not going to give him the argument he wants; Not when he’s come here looking to have a productive conversation—He claimed it as such, so she finds his attitude exhausting. Though, she can’t deny that she hasn’t been making it easy for him to talk to her. She’s just so tired of the pressure. “Give me a solution… a proposal, something. You’ve clearly been thinking about this.” 

He sighs heavily, unsure of how to proceed now that she’s let the possible spat over Eric drop. “We need to bring something to the council or nothing will get done.”

“Evelyn is going to bring it up anyway, you heard her,” Tris reminds him. He regards her with a steely gaze, and she looks away muttering, “Which you’ve thought of already.”

“Yes, and we need to be ahead of this unless we  _ want  _ it all to go to shit.” He hunches, forearms on his knees. “Maybe you should talk to Caleb…” She bites her lip, and he looks at her with his normal skepticism but goes on with his original thought, “ask him to check the medical records in the system again.” 

“If it wasn’t there before, when you thought to ask…” she looks away and heavily debates whether or not to tell him the truth of the matter—Caleb didn’t do much to quell her reservations and concerns about the sudden rise in factionless sickness.

“What?” Four asks, instead forcing the topic at hand. She could never lie to him, not successfully anyway. “What aren’t you saying?” 

“I talked to Caleb already,” she admits. “I couldn’t drop it without asking him. But unfortunately… it’s possible to weaponize an illness. It’s difficult to get the means to do it. But it’s not impossible.” 

He looks at her for a longer while than she expects. She knows he wants to ask her since when have she and Caleb been back on speaking terms but it’s not the pressing matter at the moment. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.” 

“It’s not what Evelyn will want to hear, no,” Tris adds, “But i think being honest about it is better than having no answer at all. She’d be able to sniff out a lie anyway.”

He nods then, and it’s not lost on her that this is the first civilized conversation between them in days. And they’re discussing his mother no less. “We tell them what we know next week at the meeting. Until then, I’ll keep an eye on things.” 

“I can get Caleb to put together a group to go down to the sector—a show of support.” She shrugs when he glances at her. “They need help.” 

 

* * *

  
  
  


Tris couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning until she ultimately gave up and threw on some clothes. She’s in an oversized windbreaker and her normal leather leggings. She looks the part of a half sleepy dauntless leader—even if she doesn’t quite go by the title in her own head. 

The drive to the prison on the outskirts of the city is faster than normal with not many people out and about at 2 in the morning. She flashes her credentials at the entrance and the sleepy receptionist—a brunette named Lara—has her press her palm to a tablet before she sweeps by towards Eric’s cell. Instead of Doug, a slightly younger, burlier, Jacob paces the hallway, keeping watch of a very alert Eric doing pushes up in his cell. 

“You’re earlier,” Jacob muses, greeting her at the end of the hall, “Something change with the prisoners sentence?” 

“No,” Tris replies evenly, “I need to speak with him.” 

The tan-skinned man nods slowly, “Right, well, he’s awake.” He nods over his shoulder, motioning for her to pass him. 

“Thanks,” she smiles at him, tight lipped and tense. She can feel his wariness for her appearance at the maximum security prison whenever she feels like it. The older man isn’t as comfortable with it as Doug is. The other guard is more than used to her—considering there’s nothing anyone can do about it.  _ “Open up 1, will ya Sam?”  _ She hears him talking into his comm, she rolls her eyes at his annoyed sigh but says nothing as the first door begins to slide open. 

Eric looks at her as she enters the room outside of his cell, sitting back on his knees on the floor. She smiles at him and he can see that she’s exhausted. “That face means trouble.” He stands, greeting her with a palm to the glass, lifting his shirt from the floor to wipe away the sweat from his brow. She lifts her hand to the bothersome glass between their palms. “Bad news?” He asks, but sounds resolute to whatever it is. 

“Not about you, no,” she offers a smile, “Your stay still stands.” 

“Okay,” He drones, chin dropping marginally. His green orbs search her blue ones, hoping for some clue. “Alright then, spit it out.” 

“Two days ago, Four and I went to the factionless sector to speak to Evelyn. She wanted to show us that a lot of them had been getting sick… and quickly.” She breathes in a deep breath as she’s speaking faster than normal, “She’s accusing someone of purposely getting them sick to dwindle their numbers.” 

He quirks a brow at that, crossing his arms. “Ridiculous,” he simply says. 

“I asked Caleb about it the next day… I couldn’t let it go,” she says, letting his comment go until she could finish. “He says it’s possible. That someone with the means,  _ could  _ do it. Four wants us to talk about it—why is it ridiculous?”

“They’re homeless people Tris,” Eric shrugs, “They get sick… and they die.” He notes her wince at the harshness of his words, but that doesn’t dampen the truth of what he said. “They’re exposed to the elements, they’re undoubtedly malnourished out there—even if abnegation is providing some warm meals, it can’t be enough to keep the hundreds of them from starving. There’s much easier ways to dwindle their numbers—just sitting back and watching the cruel reality of their situation would do the trick.” 

“I never thought of that… it never even occurred to me,” Tris admits. “Evelyn is certain so I didn’t ever consider it just being something that is  _ happening.”  _ She slinks down to her knees, hands to her thighs as she looks away and thinks. “She convinced us both just by bringing it up.” 

Eric had never met Four’s mother, and he couldn’t make a judgment from nothing at all, but he could say it sounded as if the woman  _ wants  _ something foul to be afoot. “It’s hard to keep a clear head in a situation like hers I guess.” 

“She speaks for the faction.” Tris replies as he sits on the cold floor. She watches as he leans back on his palms. “We’re going to discuss it at the next meeting.” He chuckles, making a defiant smile quirk at her lips and she looks to his face. “What?” 

“Factionless faction…” he snorts at the irony and she can’t help her roll of the eyes. He folds his arms soberly, “Is she convinced there’s foul play?” 

“Mostly,” Tris acquiesces. “Yeah, she’s pretty convinced. Though, on the ride here, I thought about it. We don’t do much for them other than the abnegation meals they get.” 

“I’ve been taking up three weeks worth of meetings,” he realizes. And mostly, he feels guilty.

“Yeah,” she replies solemnly. “I don’t blame her for her frustrations, not really. But now that you’ve said it, it does sound far fetched.” 

He sighs, rubbing his recropped hair, “Far-fetched, sure… but I guess not impossible. There’s been worse things. I just think it’s an inefficient and unpredictable way of taking out  _ one _ specific group like her accusations are suggesting.” He offers and she looks at him confused. He chuckles at her expression. “It’s a dangerous, chaotic attack. Say Evelyn gets sick, and it spreads to someone on the council, that’s another group encountering the sickness.”

“Whoever is responsible would have to know that…” Tris mutters. 

“It’s probably a problem easily fixed by a vaccine, Tris,” Eric says, exhaling a centered breath. “Of course, that’s vaccines spent on the factionless. Even before the war… that wasn’t a regularity.”

“No one has been visiting their sector,” Tris replies, sighing heavily. 

“Well, there you go…not so complicated a plan from whoever is doing this…the hypothetical person responsible.” 

“You think they’re just getting sick,” she concludes, deciding he was most likely right. Exposure was catching up to the squatters, and unfortunately death could be on the way. 

“If someone were to waste time doing this right now…  _ insane _ .” Eric says, “They’re insane.”

“What would you do?” She asks, mouth quirking. 

“I’d have to see resources and what can be spared.”

“There’s more to offer,” Tris replies, “Big chuck of the city’s population, gone.” 

“So, you come up with a plan, something that pleases everyone, and gets Evelyn to back off.” 

“And what about the sick factionless… she’s not going to be happy if I have no solution for that.” 

Eric folds his arms, tapping his fingers on his biceps, “Send them to what’s left of Erudite, run some tests. See what it is… what it isn’t? At least it will feel like something rather then letting them die.” 

“I feel like she’ll still fight it.” Tris sighs heavily, pressing her palm to her forehead. 

He quirks a brow, “You _really_ think she  wants  this situation to be suspect...” 

“I don’t think she’s against that being the case.” Tris admits and Eric’s expression barely changes. “It’s in her head already. She nearly bit our heads off for suggesting they try and return to their factions of origin.” 

“That can’t be helped,” Eric answers evenly. “Offer a solution and see what she says to it.” 

“I can’t just accuse.” 

“No, you can’t.” He’s solemn. “That never ends well.”


	7. Six

"Welcome," Johanna says as Susan Black shyly sits at the conference table. The young woman—the same age as Tris—is the recently appointed Abnegation representative as Marcus was pressured to step down as figurehead of their faction. His suppression from the New Council was enough to make many members of the faction uneasy under his leadership—the rumors of his abusive nature being enough to push the decision forward. This is her first meeting as a member of the New Council of Representatives and she's unsure how this will play out.

Tris gives her an easy smile, feeling connected to her, anchored by the flood of memories from their childhood. They weren't necessarily close—no one is close friends in Abnegation, it's just the way they're raised. It's now, when life has gone to hell and back in a handbasket, that Tris remembers them as friends.

"Thank you," Susan bows her head, and her confidence wavers, breath shaky. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing, or screw up a chance at making her faction's voice heard. "I'm glad to be here representing Abnegation."

They go around the circle making their introductions, as if she hasn't seen their faces repeatedly, every week a new article with speculations of their meetings sent out.

"Congratulations are in order," Tori says, "there haven't been any Abnegations leaders your age. You should be proud." She's much nicer this week than she has been.

Susan takes in the older woman, finding her comments to be from a good place—even if they don't illicit feelings of confidence, they're still nice. "I didn't have much of a choice in the matter, but thank you."

Tori's naturally slanted eyes narrow marginally, as if suddenly she's comparing Susan's words to Tris' and she looks between them.

Tris frowns, seeing the conflict cross Susan's face. She doesn't _want_ to be here, but she's here and she's being a better sport than Tris was in the beginning—even now. But her tight-lipped smile is awfully awkward. Tris glances at Tori, silently telling her to back off. She watched the encounter and it didn't _feel_ very friendly, more like a test. And it's too late for Susan to get a positive grade from the former tattoo artist.

"No one has being nominated by Erudite?" Susan asks, wondering with a slight crease in her normally flat brows. She hasn't encountered a representative in blue yet, and there's been radio silence from Erudite. The people sticking with their faction have started to pick themselves up and go to work again as a sign of good faith, she assumes. But nothing political is being discussed about them.

"They're still getting over the shame left by their last representative," Tori speaks, her expression unreservedly agitated. She scratches her cheek. "Serves them right."

"We can't ignore them forever," Four says, arms folded. "I'd rather know what's going on than nothing at all."

Tris agrees, but keeps quiet. There's not much to be said so why say it?

"Can we trust them?" Evelyn asks, her tone firm. "I can't say that the past year has looked good for them."

"It's not right, blaming the entire faction for the actions of their administration." Johanna buts in calmly. Her tone always suggests she's being mindful, not wanting to ruffle any feathers. Tris can appreciate that she wants to keep the peace—true to her nature—though it's been shown that she can be forceful when needed.

"Then who will be held responsible if not them?" Evelyn asks hotly. Her face shows her anger, her mouth tensed and her eyes ablaze with her frustrations.

"Blame is a slippery slope," Johanna argues and Evelyn laughs at her. Johanna doesn't seem bothered by it. She only adjusts her hold on her faded orange shawl and smiles.

Susan looks to Tris, the only person who hasn't made their voice heard. She knows Tris is having a hard time finding her footing, the rumors have been circulating that Tris can't settle into her role in the public eye.

"You want to try the whole Erudite population, Evelyn?" Jack asks. His voice is cool, and the table wonders if he's being serious. Jack is always being serious. "It's unrealistic and a waste of our time to keep harboring this anger towards them."

"It wasn't your people he attacked," Tori argues. "You weren't the faction used as pawns to further a secret agenda. And you lost nothing because it wasn't you caught in the crosshairs."

Tris is exhausted by the anger in this room, all of it always bubbling under the surface. But she's sat on Caleb's words and she knows she can't dig her heels in forever. She's not completely convinced of where she stands on being a leader but it's not as bad as she's been thinking about it.

She can't just run away, it's not even as if she's tried. And part of her knows she's being so stubborn because she's afraid of what all she will have to face once she accepts her new role. She's been forced to make so many big decisions in her short time as a Dauntless allegiant, and she's fought so hard to be accepted, to make it into the ranks. And she's been fighting it now? Why?

"Tris," Jack calls to her, "You're being very quiet today."

Tris sighs heavily, shrugging. "Just listening."

"You don't want to be here." He says, and the room stills. Something in her flares angrily at the call-out.

Tori looks at her, eyes boring into hers, and Tris has the sneaking suspicion that she's let something _slip_ in the last few days to suggest Tris is unwelcome of the position.

"I'm not sure where I stand on this particular situation, is all," Tris says, again being the bigger person when faced with adversity. "On one hand, we can't be sure there's no one in the faction who still has their prejudices. But on the other, if we point the finger, the only thing we'll do, is alienate those who just want to move on. And that can lead to more problems than we can handle right now, all factions included."

"We have to show that we won't stand for something like that again," Tori says.

"And when all Jeanine's supporters were either killed or locked up, what were we doing then?" Tris argues, her voice stronger than it's been. "You're on a witch hunt. And that only makes things worse. People are still mourning the loss of loved ones."

Tori doesn't reply, just sits there with her arms crossed. This feels like a conversation the three Dauntless leaders should have had handled a while back. After all, Tori isn't necessarily wrong, they can't stand in the face of uncertainty while being scared. It just won't work. But accusations seem to last. Though, if they're always blaming someone, it will lose weight in the long run.

"We're all just waiting for the other shoe to drop," Four offers, "And maybe there isn't another shoe."

Tris glances at him, in disbelief that he almost—kind of agreed with her. It's a miracle.

"We should be focused on things that we actually see happening," he says, looking to his mother as she waits expectantly. "There's been an outbreak of some illness in the factionless sector."

"What?" Johanna leans forward in her seat in concern.

"It's been happening in the last few weeks," Evelyn says bitterly. "While we've been wasting meetings, my people have been losing time."

"You've known this for _weeks_ , and you've sat on it?" Tris is again in disbelief, thinking that it was new. Evelyn knew. The woman in question, and Four, stare at her. "You've discussed this at length I see…"

"And without me as well," Tori comments.

"What do you want us to do?" Susan asks genuinely, speaking for the first time in several minutes. "I'm sorry no one from Abnegation has been—"

Evelyn cuts her off with a particularly rude glare. "It's been thought to be an attack on our numbers," she says.

"You're suggesting you're under attack?" Jack asks. He's usually asking questions rather than answering them. It's easy for him to control conversation, always saying something worth a reaction rather than returning one. "What would be the purpose of that?"

"Eliminating a perceived threat."

Tori chuckles and Evelyn glances at her but says nothing.

"I have a plan." Tris rushes out, seeing that the situation will clearly begin to escalate. And it won't be good for anyone if they all leave angry.

* * *

The rest of the meeting wasn't awful. It was actually more productive than Tris thought it could end up being. She got through it without getting angrier and they actually broached the topic of splitting resources properly. And every leader is open to the idea of the factionless at least visiting their factions of birth. Whether the notion makes it past being such, they'll hold out on that.

Jack offered a comment that caught Evelyn off guard—Truth serum should be used to determine intent because whether she wants to admit it or not, Evelyn knows there's an unverifiable amount of anger among the factionless. She poked at it at least.

Evelyn of course, is not pleased with the prospect of introducing the idea to her faction. But it's something she does have to discuss, as representatives will be descending upon their part of the city to discuss each individual factions conditions. After all, she's the one who forced the issue, as of course, she promised. Tris herself isn't sure that they'll cooperate with the rules, nor is she over Evelyn keeping secrets. But she keeps her judgment to herself.

Johanna talked food reserves, and what they're looking at with the coming months—winter is coming soon. They have enough put away, and will be skimming more on the crops to add to it. The underlying sadness that bubbled to the surface is a reminder of the lives lost in the war. They're well ahead now because of it. And all their stomachs dropped. Factions have just started getting back to routine.

And because Tris proposed the plan, she will be responsible for getting doctors to help the factionless in need of medical attention. And for that, she knows she'll rely heavily on Caleb for his help. Four didn't seem pleased at the thought, but accepts.

It's long been decided that life for those in the City should move on. The general consensus of the people: _Jeanine Matthews had corrupted the very system she so obsessively wanted to protect._ The truth serum had nearly been _abused_ to sus out which of the figureheads in the faction held the same preconceptions as Jeanine. All of them punished in ways Tris doesn't want to think about.

One of the big changes is the near-abandonment of the Erudite faction. Those living there, are basically left to fend for themselves and that needs to be fixed before the council ends up with a bigger problem on their hands. Morale is low but from the gossip mongers to their ears, Erudite is just trying to continue on as if Jeanine never existed.

Under Susan's young reign as a leader, Abnegation will continue their feeding of the homeless as well as being the first to agree to the new integrations and community clean up. She has decided that being vocal about their need for activism is the only way they can avoid catastrophe like this again. Their secrecy in the past got them into their conflict with Erudite. It will take some time getting used to being in control—even if she still could do without—but she takes her new role seriously.

Susan, with her blonde hair and her grey eyes, finds relief in Tris's face as they walk back to Abnegation together. Tris enjoys the familiarity of it, while Susan enjoys the company.

"I'd say that went well, only I don't know how the others have gone," Susan offers, her hands folded and her eyes trained straight ahead as they get closer to the front of the faction. "I won't ask you about it. I'm glad I can offer the Abnegation some news—we can continue to do our part getting back to normal."

"How is the faction fairing? I know it's not going to be easy getting that security back." Tris suddenly feels very uncomfortable, knowing just how intimately she knows what happened here.

"We don't discuss it, it's sad and no one wants to be the reminder of it." Susan answers timidly, still nervously wringing her hands. There's a silence then, and Tris knows she doesn't have to tell Susan how unhealthy that is. "There's been a few counselors from Amity by, they talk to families in the quiet of their homes… it works."

Tris feels relieved by that.

She considers how different Susan looks now. Her face is thinner and she's taller with age. She stands an inch shorter than Tris, her Abnegation clothing unable to hide how her figure has changed. They're both no longer children. And of course, they'd seen more than anyone should. Though now, Tris definitely can't understand how anyone ever thought they looked alike.

"Have you seen Robert?" Tris wonders, changing the subject.

"Not since I've returned from Amity." Susan responds with a happier smile. Her older brother is a big part of the reason young people in the faction got behind her. He started the conversation of getting them to take control of how they would be led. It was not lost on anyone that they were forced to make decisions at such young ages, but have to listen to their elders with everything else. She's unsure why Robert thought she would make a good leader but she's not going to complain, as it's rude. She stops, looking at Tris. "Have you seen him?"

Tris laughs, knowing the history the two families have between one another. She was so sure she'd be marrying Robert when they were younger, and oh how that changed. "I haven't. Not since the war. He's a hard man to get in contact with."

"Yeah," Susan nods, "Took days for him to realize I was there in Amity when Abnegation was first attacked." They're quiet for few paces, walking side by side. "I'm really glad you made it Tris," Susan says softly. She hesitates, but hugs the older-by-months Dauntless faithful.

Tris returns the hug strongly, almost burying herself in the embrace, "Thank you." When they pull apart, she smiles brightly. She doesn't say that she hasn't always been glad as well, but she knows Susan will take that with her. And despite everything, Tris knows none of them need the negativity of that kind of thought. So she'll spare the young woman. "If you need anything, you call me, okay?"

"I will," Susan nods, "I will see you down in factionless territory on Thursday?"

Tris hums as they stand there in front of the Abnegation entrance. "Bright and early?"

"You remembered." Susan smiles.

"Spent a lot of time helping my mother," Tris replies, the dull ache of missing both her parents seeps into her words. "Well, go on. Get out of here," she smiles through it. She holds up a hand in a dull wave before Susan turns away and disappears into the grey community.

Tris makes her way back toward the tracks, knowing she'll have to catch a train. She could walk, but that would make it quite a trek between the factions, even if she doesn't mind the time to think.

It's hard to wrap her head around the events that led her here. Being divergent makes her different, and a target. And she's unsure that the target is gone, but everyone is so focused on rebounding that the discussion hasn't been opened as more than _they're different_. The Trials were exhausting but they were enough to put a lot of minds at ease. There's a general curiosity pointed at those who are deemed different, but there hasn't been much animosity.

They're all victims; tied together by the same common thread for the time being.

Tris hasn't always been okay with keeping the topic out of discussions, wanting to believe total transparency is the answer to peace between the factions. But in the last few days, she's realized that having all her ducks in a row instead is more important. The public's lives were saved by more than a handful of Divergents, but it's unclear how they'll react to hearing it. Maybe she's a hypocrite but she prefers cleaning up the current mess than adding to it.

She thinks of what Tori said, trying to find a reason to keep beating the proverbial 'dead horse' that is The War and huffs. There's been radio silence in terms of the topic of one last stand of retaliation, so why act as if an attack is for sure coming? There's preparation and then there's paranoia. And Dauntless is tasked with being prepared to fight, not for looking for one. Brutality is a trait she doesn't want to revisit. There should be a thread of basic human decency. Instilling fear with the constant threat of attack will only make things more tense. Tris believes both Four and Tori know that.

The walk to the train isn't long and she easily jumps, heading downtown. She sits near the door, her back to the wall, puts her head back and closes her eyes. Thinking of the council and how it felt productive but left them with more things to be answered, leaves her slightly agitated.

How they'll move forward the next year until a choosing time will come again, she's uncertain. They've talked of skipping it, generally passing it off as unimportant in the grand scheme. But it's clear to her that the factions want to latch on to some normalcy. And in the coming months, someone will have to step up as an Erudite representative.

Completely throwing out their system of life feels like Jeanine wins, somehow. Suggesting that their system is broken by just accepting there will be people who end up with more than one result on their aptitude test, is ridiculous. They've always existed. And despite that, the city has continued on. And they will step forward even now. But Tris fears that if they just continue without _any_ sort of change, they'll be right back here in the end. Letting prejudice fester will be their undoing.

It will be cold soon, and if memory serves, most Factions become very closed off for the three months of snow and sludge. They've worked out the times each faction will visit Amity's warehouses for the winter months, Tris is actually impressed they made the decisions smoothly. But that's not cause for worry. What worries her most is the growing feeling of being trapped on the path leading directly to dependent choosing season.

Dauntless will continue to be responsible for guarding the fence—now more than ever, it's a necessity. If there is life out there, and if they've been watching, the City is vulnerable to attack.

The ride down to her stop keeps Tris in her thoughts until it's time for her to jump. It's dangerous and gets her heart pumping as she narrowly misses another train coming in her direction—she jumps onto the dilapidated building forever burned into her memory. Turning, she watches the train circle back like she had the first time she jumped. She and Christina couldn't help their laughs then.

She runs to the end and hurls herself off the edge, twirling in the air so she'll land on her back. Her arms outstretched, she lands and bounces into the air. A circle of Dauntless greet her with respectful hellos, pull down the net she's landed on to help her up, and then keep up with their conversations.

She's still known as Six, along with Four, they are the only two people with less than 10 fears. She smiles and thinks of Eric and how she would tease him right now. Him and his 12 fears. When she first came to the warrior faction, she would have never found herself teasing the Dauntless leader. With a sigh, she heads towards the pire thinking of him, knowing that right now he's being all but force fed shitty prison food.

She feels so bad for him. It's a thought she's no longer questioning. She feels forever indebted to the sacrifices he made for the chance that she may keep her life. She hated him during her year in the faction, under his rule as one of the faction leaders. It's only remedied by the fact that he only ever shows the part of himself that he wants seen. He keep everyone away. Even now he tries to push her away.

"You look happy," Uriah says, joining her from around the corner. They head deeper into the compound, down the dark jagged halls towards where full fledged faction members find their apartments. He and Tris have grown close, before they even knew they were hiding the same secret. "Today went that good, huh?"

"I guess," Tris shrugs, not correcting his grammar or missing a step. "You'll see when it's announced."

He groans, letting her pass as they reach a narrower hallway, a pair of other Dauntless walking by them without much thought than to give her a nod. She understands why the power can get to anyone's head. She's just a girl from Abnegation, and everywhere she goes, they notice her. Mostly she hates it. Sometimes she finds herself squaring her shoulders and returning the nod.

Uriah chuckles, "What's the point of this friendship if I can't even get the details before everyone else?" He's joking of course, never one to miss the opportunity for a well placed joke.

She laughs at that, making him join. "I feel used, Pedrad." He shrugs and she shoves him. "Where's Zeke?"

"Probably checking in on Shauna," Uriah shrugs, wanting to shift conversation from his brother and his girlfriend. Something akin to sadness settles in his chest as he thinks of Shauna, knowing her wheelchair has relegated her to a job in surveillance and the constant use of the elevators. Some of the older members have their judgements, but it's leadership that allows Shauna to stay. And if Dauntless are one thing, they are loyal and keep their comments to themselves.

(There's a large, shared feeling of embarrassment between the members who were used to further Jeanine's agenda. Being unaware, they still killed innocent people, and that thought is hard to shake.)

"I'll have to catch up with them," Tris says. Her friends haven't seen her in person in weeks probably. Christina keeps herself busy in the tattoo shop, practicing her craft. But she stops in on Tris whenever she feels the need.

"Yeah seriously," he says as they reach the winding stairs bringing them levels above the pit floor. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in days."

"Around," she says, smirking when his expression flattens. "There's a lot going on right now Uri, I'm sorry."

He bumps her shoulder, accepting the apology with a smile. The pair of 18 year olds have been through a lot in the last 2 years and they've forged an understanding between them both, being ranked 1 and 2 of their class. He chose to be an initiate trainer, the both of them training the Dauntless-born instead of the transfers. It's been a year since their last class became full fledged members. Neither needs to be reminded of what happened since then. He's going stir crazy trying to find something to do. He tries not to dwell on the things he can't control. His brother is more of the control freak—and even that is mild.

"The fence is uninteresting," Uriah offers a change of subject as they walk, "I'm trying to get transferred to patrolling the factionless sectors."

"What for?" She asks, "The tension wondering if someone is going to break through the fence, not enough excitement for you?"

"There's no one out there." Uriah shrugs, not going to let her ruin his hopeful mood with her usual dryness. "And Amity doesn't need anymore guards in the fields so it's factionless for me."

Tris nods slowly, both of them walking closer and closer to the tower of apartments. She sighs, relenting because she knows that he needs this, and she doesn't need to be the one to crush his hope of finding some sort of fulfillment, "Send me the request and I don't see why I would have to say no."

Uriah simply nods—knowing Tris doesn't go out of her way to utilize the power that comes with being a faction leader—but he's bursting to pull her into a hug. His face nearly splits and he does. He hugs her strongly and she laughs.

"Okay, okay, put me down," She giggles, and she'll deny she did it anyone ever mentions such a thing.

"Sorry," Uriah grins, "I really thought I'd have to ask Tori and we both know that wouldn't have ended well." The older woman has been in a terrible mood as of late. So they steer clear. He knows it has a lot to do with his friend here, and her friendship with Eric. But he holds back his judgment. He can't fault her for caring about something else in the chaos of rebuilding—whatever keeps her sane.

"She means well I think," Tris pats his arm, "Just hurt right now. I can understand." Uriah nods and she gives him a tight lipped smile as they push into the stairwell. "Have a good night Pedrad," Tris says, waving at him as she starts up towards her floor.

"You too," he says, smiling at her brightly. "I'll send you the request!" He rushes out before she disappears around the corner.

She chuckles as she hears him bounding down the staircase.

Rolling her neck, she continues up the stairs, waving with a smirk into the obviously placed cameras surveying pretty much every corner of the compound. She gets an idea then, proposing better surveillance in other factions—she'll have to send it in.

Fishing her key out of her back pocket Tris trudges towards her door. She could really use a long soak in her tub. Her muscles are sore and she just wants to crawl into bed. But she knows she's can't. She's been fighting her new job title tooth and nail. But it was temporary and she's always known that a little—that something will have to give, and her stubbornness would only make the transition more painful. She's already been hailed a hero, that she can't run from, so why not carry the mantle? Why not attempt to better her faction? There has to be someone standing up and saying this will not break them.

Stepping into her apartment, she immediately adjusts the heat setting in the and all but collapses on one of her kitchen stool. She sits with her head down for just a moment of peace. The day runs through her head and she knows there's a lot to go over—things she's got to catch up on. With all that's happening around her, all she'd wanted to do was hide from it. But that's impossible. She holds her face in her hands and huffs before grabbing an apple she brought back with her from amity and shines it on her shirt.

Looking around the apartment, she's got some cleaning to do. Her bookcase is in disarray and her blankets haven't been folded or moved in ages. At least her black leather couches are still in their respective standings. _Not even going to look for the remote,_ she thinks, stepping down into her living room. The TV stares blanking at her. She doesn't watch it anyway, just reruns of old world shows and movies, with the occasional news briefing. She should just get rid of it, as it's only a reminder of the attack on her old home—she's unable to forget that _every_ screen around them showed that fateful day. She's sick to her stomach thinking about it.

There's stacks of paperwork Four undoubtedly brought over. How nice of her boyfriend to bring the work to her, she smirks knowing it's his way to tell her to get her shit together. Four may be a lot of things but he's a constant she can count on. And maybe that's another reason she can't find it in herself to leave him.

Okay, so, her excuses are thin.

She looks at the paperwork and gingerly mulls all of it over while she snacks. There's different requests to rework the point system now that the factions numbers are at an all time low. But she agrees with Tori's memo on it. If they change too much, when the faction expands, there will have to be another overhaul. And who's to say they'll be standing in the next few months?

Despite everything, Tris hopes that she and Tori can fix their friendship. She's seen the former tattoo artist as a friend and mentor. But she can't apologize finding Eric's near execution to be unnecessary.

She remembers her leadership training and what she's supposed to do, picks up her tablet and types a quick summary of her opinion on the memo before sending the email and attaching the file. On next is the announcement of a suicide. She quickly notes that she didn't know the man and passes it off to Four to see how he wants to handle it.

(Honestly she's shocked there haven't been _more_ suicides or spike in crime. But it's a dark train of thought and she quickly tries to move on.)

Uriah sends in his request and she signs off on it before sending it to Four and Tori as a courtesy. It briefly crosses her mind that maybe she should wait a few days before starting to approve her friends requests—impartiality is important. And she doesn't want her friends to come under fire for being friends with her in hopes of getting favors. That's not gossip any of them need.

She hasn't heard from Four since the council and she figures he's here somewhere—hopefully near his tablet so he can make Uriah's day and back her up on the choice. As someone who makes the schedules for those guarding the fence, hopefully he gives Uriah a good shift on his Factionless patrol. But she's done what she said she'd do. Hopefully this will help him stay busy so he doesn't have to deal with losing Marlene and Lynn to the war. It's not healthy coping but she won't force Uriah to face it head on, as she hasn't done so when addressing her parents deaths.

She understands the younger Pedrad's want for some purpose. In this time, coping is important. And Tris knows he's probably trying to figure out where he sits in the new regime Dauntless is being run under. Uriah probably didn't realize that initiate training came with guarding the fence during the rest of the year. Zeke chose surveillance as his main job there in the compound and spends his days in the control room mostly.

Tris sighs and heads back to her kitchen where she throws her apple core away before heading to her bathroom. She bathes and soaks away her day, takes less than a minute to condition her hair, rinses herself off and then slinks into her pajamas. She leaves the light in her bathroom on and pulls her covers all the way up to her chin as she lies in her bed. Closing her eyes, Tris wishes for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Caleb sighs heavily as he stands outside where the factionless have been quarantined until their sickness passes, or they do. He's not a doctor, he's not even studying to be one.

His main focus is research but Tris asked him to show. And he's doing his best to prove to not only her, but himself that he can do it. He wants a relationship with his sister. Even if he doesn't deserve one. He's proud that in the last few days, she's coming around to her job. He was sure this wasn't what she agreed to last year when she chose _Dauntless_ leadership. It's not a big jump in his opinion, but it's one thing to lead a faction with the help of two others, it's another thing—after secrets have been revealed, laws broken, lives taken, and a war fought and won—to go back to the same faction and try to look over the things she didn't know before, and somehow be effective. It's hard but she's trying. Even coming to see him last Monday was a big deal.

It's not as bad as it seems, they're told. Most people's fevers have started to break with the help. It's seems as though disaster has been averted. Medicines have been administered and the Erudite doctor's are packing up to leave.

"See?" Caleb smiles at her. He keeps himself a few steps away from her. "Good news." He can tell she doesn't feel better about it just being something akin to the Flu that the factionless have. "What?"

She can't shake the doubt in her mind about Evelyn. She's been thinking about it, mulling over Evelyn's quiet looks, her dark eyes and closed off demeanor when it comes to what she is and isn't willing to share. Part of Tris feels bad about her suspicions considering the abuse Evelyn has survived but her past victimhood doesn't make her a victim now.

"It's nothing." Tris shrugs. "Can we trust them to get back to Erudite alright?"

"I'm pretty sure they'll be fine." he replies, a hint of teasing in his tone. "Besides, your men are taking them home. I'm the one who should be asking you that."

"C'mon," she rolls her eyes at him, heading for the Abnegation set up down the way. They cross the street, heading towards one of the stronger buildings where volunteers are offering warm meals—chicken soup and bread from Amity. Johanna promised it was peace serum free. It's not much, but it's food.

There's no doors on the building, just patchwork cloth to serve as separation. There's a long table where different volunteers ladle soup into bowls. And around the room representatives are speaking to small groups. It reminds Tris of visiting day, more lively than she expected.

"I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm proud of you Bumble Bea," he smiles at her, hands in his pockets as they stand in the doorway. She beams, thanking him with her smile.

"I just needed a push," Tris says, unsure of what else to say to that. The two siblings are in a weird space. She loves him though, and she feels slightly disoriented by how she finds his opinion valued and wanted. He chose Erudite, more times than she wants to remember but he'll always be her brother, despite his best efforts to force their factions to forget. _What's done is done,_ she's said.

"Tris!" They hear, heads following the sound of the voice. Susan waves them over, her brother beside her. She turns beet-red when people who aren't Tris and Caleb look at her.

Caleb stills, seeing the person his teenage crush had been focused on. Tris elbows him with a grin.

"Hey guys," Tris says, looking around. She notes the factionless eating and talking freely and there's a pang of guilt in her stomach that reminds her of the help they offered in the rebellion. They've lost more than they gained. She's pulled into a hug, Robert greeting her the way the Amity do.

He's taller than both her and Susan, but a couple inches shorter than Caleb who looks every bit of the 6 foot 3 inches that he's grown into over the years. But unlike Caleb, he's let his facial hair grow, and his blond hair is short and quiffed messily about his head. He's handsome by most accounts, with his strong jaw and smooth, sun kissed skin, Tris thinks, and she would be surprised if he has no suitors at all.

The red of his shirt is a stark contrast to his sister's grey outfit.

Caleb quickly offers a handshake instead of being pulled into an awkward hug. Robert laughs but accepts the shake. "How're you Caleb?" Robert asks, his voice deep and warm. They used to be so close, the four of them, growing up a little separated from the rest of the faction. Now they feel like strangers.

"I'm well," Caleb says, and his eyes drift to Robert's sister. Susan smiles at him and the familiarity of the situation is not lost on them. Robert and Tris glance at each other and smile. It's definitely dejá vu.

"Hi," Susan says, looking away quickly.

"How's it been?" Tris asks, cutting into the conversation before her brother makes a bigger fool of himself. "Anything I need to know?"

"What you'd expect," Susan explains. "We'll be leaving soon." They gave as much as they had for the day. And made sure the factionless were fed. Many people seem to be interested in going home to visit.

"Some people have nowhere to go home to, Tris." Robert says. "You can imagine the grief."

"We expected that could be the case," Tris admits, feeling their eyes on her.

"There's no scenario in which a good portion of the factionless haven't lost a great deal," Caleb replies, taking some of the pressure off Tris's words.

Tris looks at Robert, "What are you even doing here?" She asks with a smile reaching her eyes.

He laughs, "I helped bring the bread… I volunteered."

"No art coming along?" Susan asks him, knowing he's picked up the artistic trait as a child. He was always better at it compared to her.

"Not currently. I can only paint the same image so many times before I lose my mind." He says solemnly. He hasn't been in the mood for art. "Something will come to me."

"Well, we were just checking in," Tris says, changing the subject again, "I'm going to see that the Erudite didn't need any help getting back…"

Caleb shoots her a look, "I'll stay," he says.

She looks at him with a quirked brow. "You sure? If you stay you're gonna have to catch a ride with someone…" she knows he wants to stay so he can catch up with Susan but she won't tease him… too much. Her smirk says enough. "Dauntless patrol shift change isn't until 8."

"I'll be fine Tris," he laughs easily.

"Okay," She backs off.

Robert chuckles, "I'll head out with you. I could use the air," he shuffles behind her, using the thin excuse to leave Caleb and Susan alone.

"You're leaving them alone?" Tris asks with a snort.

"He doesn't want to talk to me," Robert shrugs, pushing the cloth over the doorway out of their way. "But I guess you can't talk to me very long either?"

She gives him an apologetic glance and he nods as she starts her way towards her friend, pointing at him,"Next time…" she turns as he waves, "Uri!" They're both surprised at how quickly Four responded to his request of transfer. But today is his first day.

"What's up?" Uriah asks, weapons strapped about his body in preparation. It didn't go over well with Abnegation committed but Tris's opinion overruled theirs.

Tris looks around, making sure they're out of earshot of the nearest people. She's been growing edgy since they arrived. "Nothing. Erudite left with no problems?"

"Yeah," Uriah nods seriously, both of them in a serious mood now that actual work conversation has been brought up. "Zeke took off with the last truck of them. Dr. Daniels and Rykers." She'd been surprise that the older Pedrad volunteered for factionless Day—as it has been dubbed.

"Good," Tris exhaled, lips rolling in a way that made Uriah chuckle. She gave him a smirk. "It's been a long day. Productive but long."

"I just got here." He shrugs. Over the next hour, there will be a shift in the mood around the place. The members of the four visiting factions will be on their way home and the factionless will be left to the night. Dauntless guards on high alert around these parts. "You leaving?"

"In a bit," Tris says noncommittally. She's not even required to be here today. As a leader of Dauntless, she could bark orders from her apartment if she wanted to. But that's not who she is. They stand there, watching as the building where the dining has been done throughout the day, is starting to be cleared out. "Do me a favor?"

"Yeah," He doesn't hesitate.

"Caleb is staying, could you make sure he gets a ride home later…"

Uriah laughs but nods. "Sure thing."

She places her hand on his shoulder, "I'll see ya later."

He nods as she starts toward the street, waving a hand at a truck of Dauntless she recognizes. She checks in with Lauren, switching control to the older woman where she stands getting caught up with the others she's shown with.

Tris is happy she learned to drive in school when it was offered in upper levels. It was Caleb who convinced their parents to let her take the class— _one day it could be important_ , he said. She can leave somewhere whenever she pleases now.

"Tris…" she hears, turning to see who followed her all the way to her vehicle.

Evelyn.

The older, brunette considers her with her steely gaze, "Thank you." The words physically pain her to say.

Tris is dumbfounded, never expecting to hear Evelyn ever thank her for anything. "It's… it wasn't a problem. We shouldn't have stood by for so long."

"No, you shouldn't have. But today was a fine first step. They're thankful so, so am I." Evelyn comments bristly. And Tris's shocked expression isn't hard to ignore. "Off to speak with your favorite prisoner?"

Tris begins to nod—not registering anything but the thank you, for a moment—before she looks at Evelyn quickly, exhaling an amused huff, brows raised. "I beg your pardon?"

"He's a felon, Tris."

"He was used a scapegoat because we couldn't get Jeanine and Max," Tris argues. She's so tired of this. One minute, they're having as pleasant a conversation that can be expected, the next Tris is being insulted.

A moment later, Evelyn gives a smile that chills Tris's bones. She's proud of the reaction her response has earned from the young woman.

"You should be careful," Evelyn says, "Especially now when everyone's state of mind is so fragile. He saved your life, and for that, he gets to live because you feel indebted. But the rest of us don't have to." She doesn't give the young leader a moment for breath before she's continuing on without preamble. "And quite frankly, it's not very smart to think the impasse will last. Someone will attempt to get to him, and they may try and get to him through you."

Tris watches her leave, brows furrowed. She's unsure if she was just warned, or threatened.


	8. Seven

Eric lays on his stomach, trying to get some sort of rest. But sleep evades him. He hasn't been getting more than a few hours. And that wouldn't be such a problem if he had some sort of entertainment to pass the time. But he's got nothing to do but sleep and…

He's _always_ in plain view of the guard.

He doesn't know why there needs to be a guard going up and down the hall. It's not as if he's going to escape. There's more than one wall. He'd have to break through the room outside his cell as well. Speaking of which, he's certain he's in the only cell with the separate room. And he's certain Tris has used whatever pull she has to keep him from being moved—actively or not. She'd put up a fight if it kept him from being mistreated, that much is evident.

He swirls his finger in the divots on the floor, as he always does when he's bored. He wonders how the meeting and Tris's proposal went. He hasn't seen her in a few days. He gets no TV, as he doesn't get lunch in the cafeteria with everyone else. It's similar to the pit, he doesn't need to see it. The other prisoners are annoying, he's sure.

Eric rolls to his back, thinking of his mother and his sister Stephanie, hoping they're okay. His Mom's look of devastation and Stephanie's confusion, are etched into his memory. They were at his trial, but his mother wasn't asked to speak—which he understands may have helped. But he didn't push for it. She had nothing to do with it. And if he were to be frank, he'd admit he was too tired to care—as strange as that would be for him They asked questions of _his_ involvement and it was his answers heard in kind. He wouldn't have his mother questioned in an open court—accused by association—especially if there seemed to be no hope anyway.

His lawyer thought it would be beneficial to his case to have character witnesses but what friends does he have? And what's the point of fighting when all the evidence points to Jeanine's manipulations and still he's here?

He still can't shake his Mom's cry of disbelief. Her usually composed demeanor cracked by his conviction—watching her son ripped away from her for the 3rd time.

Eric hears a familiar buzzing and rolls into a sitting position, his spine cracking as he stands and stretches his arms over head. Tris enters wearing her favorite loose fitting black shirt and a pair of leather leggings—it's one of the few times she's not wearing some other factions colors. If it's a sign she's feeling more Dauntless, he likes it.

Without thought, he lifts a hand to the glass and greets her with a smile. "Thought you forgot about me in here."

"Never." She replies, beaming at him after a large exhale. Her hand meeting his, the size difference is comical. They've spent so much time together, she can't fathom never seeing him again. She needs to see him as much as he needs to see her. And he does need to see her, no matter his denials in the past. He hunkers down, prepared for her to unleash the story of her horrible day. But instead she asks about him. "How're you holding up?"

"I'll survive," he gives her a strained smile—maybe if he denies how terrible today has been, he'll start to believe it was fine. They sit in front of one another, her fingers hooking in the hole in the barrier so she can touch him. Their index and middle fingers entangle and Tris noticeably exhales, relieved. He just watches for a moment, happy for the contact. He misses it when it's gone and he's still amazed that someone like her—a liberator—spends time coming to see him. He shouldn't want to see her, but he's always been selfish.

"I missed you, Jerk." She says, and he looks at her then. She wants to say that she always misses him when she leaves, but she doesn't. The feeling doesn't seem to fade anymore. It's intense and she can't explain because she hasn't put a label on the emotion yet.

He was a harsh leader, but she's hard pressed to ignore the stories that say he was always steady, unyielding and always knew what to do. She can use some of that now.

"Stop," he tries to laugh off the sudden heaviness, but it dies in the back of his throat, and only silence follows. He's pushing through her admission as painlessly as he can, with minimal contact, withdrawing his hand from hers.

Tris makes it so hard for him to be mean. He's denied it in the past, but he feels like she's being ripped away every time she has to leave. Unshed tears sparkle in her eyes—as though she's had a tougher time than his initial thought even was. He doesn't comment further and she gives a sad smile knowing that he won't allow himself to respond in kind—his eyes say enough when he lets it happen.

"I'm stressed." She says, moving on, quickly wiping her sleeves under her eyes.

" _Tell_ me about it," he remembers those days. But he waits, wanting to hear what she's been up to.

"Slowly accepting my new job." huffing a laugh, she looks up at him. "I gave my options on the factionless situation and a few doctors went to offer treatment."

"That's what you wanted, I'm assuming..." He comments, his posture hunched, as if he can somehow get closer to her by sitting that way. She nods. He looks at her neck and notices the absence of her tattoo… still. Her skin looks smooth, soft… They make eye contact. He swallows thickly, "That's it…?"

"There's talks of reworking the point system in Dauntless," Tris replies with a sigh, "But Tori and I think it's stupid."

He snorts, and she eyes him. "Stop staring at me, and explain." He teases, his smile just as straight as anyone could possibly imagine. Tris just stares at him for what feels like the longest.

She smirks as he laughs, "I'm not supposed to tell you." She teases and he rolls his eyes. She continues anyway, "Gen pop is low. But it won't always be, you know? Then what?"

"It would only need to be adjusted again." He concludes whilst she nods. "Okay so it would be _inefficient."_

"Yeah." She hufs, raking her hands through her hair, down the back of her neck, folding her fingers together. She looks very much like the stressed teen that she is, and she's exhausted.

He remembers what it's like to be so swamped, missing meals and just getting minimum amounts of sleep. He never complained, but it's not ideal, and it did make his usually roguish mood, even worse. "Are you taking care of yourself?" He inquires before he can stop. He could roll his eyes at how _soft and cuddly_ she makes him. May whatever gods there are, strike him down if he ever says as much out loud.

Tris wonders if he knows how much her heart has just swelled, "Trying."

"Fair," He relents, though the huff that accompanies his response is indication of how much he doesn't actually like that answer.

She snorts and looks down into her lap. _He's such a brat._ "I went to the market, bought some more apples." They're both reminded of the time she brought him one and Jacob made the biggest possible deal out of it. It was an apple for crying out loud, and in the end, he still got it. "Anyway...The Factionless are going to be fine."

"Good?" He says, but his tone suggests that it's more of a question. He shakes his head at her when she looks at him for more than that—clarifications on what she's supposed to think. He's generally weary of all things he doesn't have a full story on, and save for guards making sure the Factionless don't kill each other during the day, there's not much known about a large majority of the homeless numbers. It's something he wondered while he was on the outside before more pressing matters took control. He was never really given the space to do something other than obey ever-evolving orders and he always hated it.

"I think Evelyn threatened me," Tris muses, hands in her lap, knees up in front of her. "I'm almost 100% positive." Eric looks at her so quickly, she's surprised he didn't hurt his neck. "You know… the usual…" Tris's voice is above a whisper now, he struggles to hear her. The expression on her face displays just how tired of the constant need for explanation she really is. However, she's touched by his obvious care. "I've been paying a lot of attention to you in here…and I care about what happens to you, doesn't mean anyone else has to."

"What more aren't you telling me?" He asks with a short snort, something akin to a laugh but not quite as humored. He knows what a threat sounds like—he's heard them, he's given them—but It's not like he can do anything about his anger and distaste for the situation, as he's in here and she's out there.

"I'm getting you out of here," she says strongly, ignoring his last question all together. And he laughs darkly—noting that she didn't answer him—looking away, "Don't laugh, I'm serious." He can't look at her because he knows she's means she's going to try anyway. She breathes hard, "It's not right. You saved lives."

He bows his head, looking away from her. "Tris, it's okay." He wants to ask her when she'll just _accept_ that this is what's happening, why she _can't_.

"No, it's not." She says, shaking her head, her tears still glistening. She's frustrated and she's upset. And she's been ruminating on her interaction with Evelyn for three days. It really bothers her that Jeanine and Max aren't here to face the same fate. "This doesn't feel like justice. Not when I wouldn't have been able to stop the simulations without you. Four was in that stupid simulation and—"

"I still broke the law before that," he says, "I wasn't under simulation. It's hard to convince people of the other factors when it's undeniable that people are dead because I went along with it." He's not angry about it anymore. Anger doesn't solve anything, he's learnt that the hard way. "I can't go back to Dauntless now."

"Yes, you can" She's adamant and he can see it but he also knows there's not much else she can do.

"Why, because you _say so?"_ He asks, an edge to his voice. She looks at him, hurt. They stare at one another for a long while, neither willing to be the one to lose the battle of wills. It feels like hours before he says, "You can't keep fighting for me."

His mouth goes dry—wanting nothing more than to reach out and wipe the tears from her eyes. He wants to scream, to beat his hands against the glass until it breaks so that he can.

He didn't expect her to look so hurt.

"You don't deserve this for the rest of your life." She wipes at her eyes. She doesn't know why she's so damned emotional. He doesn't understand how her eyes can hold so much, eyes watery and wide as she looks at him.

Eric looks down, away from her face, unable to decipher the tugging of his heart, "Four would die keeping it from happening," he jokes sarcastically, but she doesn't laugh and he regrets it. "Come on Tris."

"I don't understand why you're so accepting of this." She's not willing to let it go yet. If he quits, she's just the idiot holding on to him—the only person with a last shred of hope that he won't _die_ in this jail cell.

"How _is_ number boy?"

"Eric…" she knows he's trying to change the subject. She clenches her jaw when he simply stares at her until she gives in. "I hate when you do that."

He bites his lip, knowing that if he just explodes, he'll lose her. And dammit, does he want her to stay. Green meets Blue, her eyes just as misty as they can be. "I don't know what you want me to say."

They're silent, neither of them ready to quite face how close they've gotten. Slapping the label of friendship on it feels like a lie. Tris just wants to cry. To cry for them, for him, for herself.

This isn't right.

"I don't know. Haven't talked to him." She speaks flatly, giving up—sounding just as bitter as her face expresses.

"You guys still together or what?" Eric smiles into his knees; arms folded and supporting his chin. He keeps his tone light, almost teasing. He doesn't give a damn about Four,

She shrugs, sniffling, unabashedly tearful about the current state of their friendship. "We are. Doesn't feel like it but I guess we need a clean break."

"You won't," he challenges her with a mischievous smile. "He's an idiot and it's completely mystifying to me but you love him." _She loves him,_ he says to himself. Tris just stares at him and he nods slowly. "Oh."

"It's all fucked up," Tris says honestly. She can see the look of regretful apology and she snorts, "Oh stop," she waves him off. "We're friends, you and me."

"You're my _only_ friend," he laughs.

"It's not like you can get visitors other than me and the rest of the council Eric," she tries to soften the blow. And he appreciates it.

He had a small group of friends—but they're a bunch of assholes and it was just superficial. People he drank with. They didn't have much of the same day to day things in common. Eric likes walks, he likes to read, and he's not too bad a _cook_. They were all friends with him because he was a leader.

"Anyone even ask you about me?" He wonders. It's not a secret where she runs off to when she's gone for a long while. Her answer is a simple shake of the head—Christina doesn't count in this she assumes—and he nods slowly. "You're the only friend I've got."

"Your mother would come to see you if she could," Tris says.

"I don't want her to see me here." He thinks of all the times he wished his parents could see him as a Dauntless leader—the highest job title within the ranks. Now he's here.

His mom is a proud but kind woman. And he doesn't want her heart to break anymore than he's already broken it. She lost her husband to Jeanine's antics—and he can sleep knowing he avenged the loss with a bullet. It's not the best way to think, but it's the one thing he doesn't regret. Last time he saw her is an unpleasant memory.

"I'm going to get my leadership tattoo," Tris says with an impish smile. "Tori, Four have theirs and now me."

"Oh yeah…" he starts, shaking his sadness and replacing it with joy for her. He's never really outward with his emotions but she can see it when she really looks. "Where?"

"My neck, I think." Tris says, beaming at him. _Like you._

"That shit hurts," he says without missing a beat. "But it'll look good."

She giggles, "Zeke and Uriah said the same thing."

"Who's going to do it for you?" He asks, instinctively scratching his neck, her eyes drawn to the geometric, thick dark columns tattooed into his skin, some of his facial hair disrupting the image.

He looks older with the stubble on his face, and eventually a beard will grow. His tattoos and the dermal piercings above his brow remind her of what he looked like in Dauntless. His signature undercut, gone, replaced by a shaved head.

"I haven't asked anyone yet," Tris finally answers, rolling her eyes as he catches her staring at him. "But probably Christina…" she buries her smile in the crook of her elbow, leaning on her knees, hunched into a ball. She knows how much he and Christina hate one another. He doesn't like her constant chatter, and she's holding a grudge. And Tris stays out of it. "Who gave you yours?"

"Tori," Eric replies, swallowing thickly.

"Really?" Tris would never have assumed that. When Eric was still leading, Tori never said a kind word about him, but when she thinks of it, Tori never said anything bad either—not until everything that led them here, happened. Tris always assumed that like everyone else, they respected him, but weren't always fond of him. "You two were friends?"

"Somewhat," Eric turns over the response, glancing at her. She knows the custom of leadership tattoos being given by the tattooer of choice. It just becomes more personal when the tattoo is done—having a friend put the ink to skin.

Tris nods, "I get it," she says, knowing Eric keeps everyone at arms length, even her.

"I always liked her work. The placement was her idea and that was it." He chuckles, thinking back to how proud he was of it—not that he isn't still proud of earning it in his own right—but it's different now after the 4 years he was leader and all that's happened in that time. "Who would've thought, right?"

His sarcasm isn't hard to notice. She snorts, finding his humor is easier to understand now, and maybe twice as tragic. He always finds a serious moment, ending it with a joke. She wishes he'd stop pretending he's perfectly okay with being right in front of one another, but feeling miles apart.

Maybe he's convinced himself it's all the same. But the control freak she knew from Dauntless would never just give in. This is breaking him and he isn't even fighting it. Him—the perfect picture of what Dauntless has been in the last few years, is losing his will to fight. It's more upsetting the more she thinks about it.

Maybe she wants him to care so she doesn't feel so alone in it.

He sees the look on her face, and doesn't like it. He bends his head, tilting his chin, offering a soft smile at the angle she's resting her hands on her knees. "I'm sorry I'm not gonna be there," Eric's voice cuts through the quiet. Her eyes blink slowly—as if he's pulling her from a dream—and her lashes will never appear as thick as they do right now, her eyes will never be as full of fondness and comfort. She considers him with a wide smile, and he returns it, despite his initial apprehension. "What?" He sounds breathless and he curses internally.

"Nothing," Tris swallows down her girlish reaction to seeing his perfect smile, "Just knowing you want to be there is enough for me."

* * *

_Tris smiles as the knife she throws hits cleanly in the center of the target. Finally, something she's good at. She's been behind on the scoreboard since they arrived here in Dauntless and her fight training is still going pitifully._

_But this, this is fun, and she hasn't dropped a knife yet._

_Earlier today, she may have drawn unnecessary attention to herself when she saved Al from becoming Factionless. It's undoubtedly what would have happened had she kept her mouth shut like everyone else. But like anything else they do here during initiation, it was a test and she was the only one who passed. So maybe it wasn't so bad._

_But she is annoyed that it was one of Eric's many tests._

_She doesn't understand that man, and his ever confusing looks. He's always just_ _**looking** _ _at her. Trying to figure her out._

_Tris really wishes she didn't have a secret so she could stop being so damn nervous around him. (Maybe that's not the only reason he makes her so anxious but damn.)She doesn't even understand her divergence, and no one has even attempted to put her mind at ease about it. Tori all but went out of her way to let her know that stage two will be even harder to pass—_ _**great** _ _. And her mom told her not to trust anyone._

_And Four, he's ever confusing as well. He's always just,_ _**there** _ _._

_She throws her last knife in frustration and it clinks to the floor, over rotated and sloppily tossed. She sighs and goes to collect the six knives by their handles. Her hands barely keep their hold as she walks back to the table and haphazardly lets them fall._

_Her ear still stings, not from the cut but possibly from how embarrassed she still feels that Eric called her out in front of everyone. 'Points for bravery,' he said, 'but not as many as you lost for mouthing off.' Tris huffs and scowls at the memory._

_There's a loud thud from behind her, and she picks up a knife, ready to throw it at whoever is priming to attack her. Peter has been bothering her for weeks. Maybe he's finally going to do what he says and kick her ass. This place really can make someone paranoid._

_But it's not him, the footsteps are loud, commanding._

_Eric._

_He comes around the corner, his gym bag is around his shoulder. Her mouth falls open at the sight of him standing there, looking very much like the leader he is, even in an empty room. Their eyes meet as he unzips his jacket to reveal nothing but refined muscle and smooth skin. And she's embarrassed that he's caught her. She's not even doing anything wrong but she's sure he can make deities feel unrighteous._

_He doesn't say anything—only looking at the table where her knives sit untouched since she dropped the one she'd brandished for protection against an imaginary foe—and he keeps walking. He's in the mood for his workout, bed and then thank god he's taking the day off from training them tomorrow. Lauren and Four will just have to deal with them._

_Tris opens and closes her mouth, following him with curious eyes as he makes his way towards the punching bags several feet away. He bends down to grab his roll of tape to wrap up his hands. Pausing, glancing back at her, she catches his eyes for a moment before quickly looks away— a knife in hand and ready to throw—as she stumbles._

_He stares at her, holding back his chuckle. Quite frankly he's impressed that she hasn't gone running from the room. Most of the initiates—Transfers and Dauntless-born alike—would have made themselves scarce by now. But not her. And today when she stood up to him, he was mostly irritated, but again, impressed._

_She may be mouthy, but Dauntless and always trying to prove it._

_Tris watches him from the corner of her eye, then back to the target as she throws her blade and it sticks in the silicone of the body sketch. Right in the middle of the head. She smiles to herself triumphantly._

_**I**_ _**can continue to throw, no big deal, it's fine. Just pretend he's not here… right there glaring at you.**_

_Her Abnegation upbringing is hard to shake and she feels a blush creeping up the back of her neck. He's watching. Always watching._

_She sneaks a glance at him, and he doesn't look away, almost daring her to throw again. She does, but she has to look away from him to do it, so it's not at all intimidating; her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth as she concentrates on getting enough power out of her slender arms, and into the rotation of the sharp weapon. He watches until she's down to one last blade._

_Tris looks at him, her smile daring to cross her face, but she holds it back. Four smiles when someone does something right, but Eric, he's always glaring. 'Could've been better' she imagines he's says to himself._

_Eric looks down, licking his lips before shrugging and making his way over. He stalks, all shoulders while still appearing an entire foot taller than he already is, predatory. She has to take a step back, scared. And when he picks up her last knife, she wants to run, but her feet stay planted._

_Who was she kidding, trying to show off?_ _**Stupid, stupid, stupid.** _

_But he doesn't stab her and then leave her there to die like her overactive imagination would have her believe. No, he tosses the knife in the air, catching it by the blade before carelessly flinging it at the same target she's using. Tris watches as the weapon rotates and smacks directly into the center with a thud, her previously placed knife clanks to the floor, two others following suit while two more hang on for dear life._

_**Okay, so he can do it.** _

_Tris turns away from his intense eyes—mouth agape—and back to him again, drawn in. She always thought they were blue… not that she was wondering. But from afar...they look blue. But with him staring her down—effectively crushing her attempt at showing off the one thing she wouldn't have to kill herself perfecting—so close, she notices the warm flecks of gold around his irises, surrounded in lush green._

_And he smells amazing? Like mint and fresh air._

_She feels light-headed. Before she can further react to his presence like a pubescent, he's walking away, back toward his bag._

_Her cheeks redden, embarrassed and angry at him. "Asshole," she mutters under her breath. But sound carries in the emptiness of the giant room._

_Eric snorts and looks at her—having heard her. But he doesn't respond. He continues to tape his left hand while she again collects her knives from the floor. She's ashamed of how much effort it takes to remove the one he threw, from the target._

_She dumps her knives back on the table and starts wrapping them up when she sees him winging his arms and rolling his neck. He cracks his knuckles before landing his first strike on the bag. The sound echoes. He hits the bag again and again, without misstep, without wincing in pain. And Tris feels completely inadequate. She knows it's stupid to compare herself to the youngest leader in Dauntless history—he's earned his place, he's gone through years worth of practice, he's years ahead—but still, she feels as though she'll never make it as far as he has. And she can't help but bite her lip, watching him as he circles, punches and circles again. In concentration, she watches his movements, eyes on his steps. Two punches low, and a cross with the opposite hand, something she's seen him showing Edward before, who never seems to do it as gracefully or with as much command as Eric._

_After standing there for a shameful amount of time gawking at him, she starts to move closer, leaning on a nearby pillar to watch his movements. She's enthralled. The transfer from Abnegation has never seen him in action, not past the few things he'll begrudgingly display when one of her classmates isn't doing something right. Four is way more hands on. And she's seen him work a bag, it's not the same… there's something about Eric's anger that seems uncontrollable while being compelling and completely calculated, down to the very last step._

_She takes in his every movement, focusing on his punches rather than his rippling muscles. He stops suddenly, catching the bag when he notices that she's standing there. "Did you want something, Stiff?" His harsh voice makes her nearly jump out of her skin._

" _I-I just—" her voice sounds as pathetic as she suddenly feels and the inquiry raised with the quirking of his pierced brow is not making her feel any better. "I just thought I could learn something by watching you." She speaks quickly, nearly choking on how fast she spits out her confession. She should just go, but she can't will her feet to move._

_He stares at her while considering the answer, "Are you a visual learner? Because from what I've seen, that doesn't seem to help_ _ **any**_ _of you."_

_Tris feels her cheeks redden at his words, embarrassed again because he's not wrong. Instead of answering, she rushes towards a punching bag, right next to him. He nods at her once, his expression enough to tell her to hurry up if she's going to start and get any help from him. He may start counting down the seconds._

_Before she can even throw a punch, he stops her. "You're going to break your hand hitting someone with that form." She opens her mouth to protest but Eric grabs her all the same, taking her hand and turning it the way it needs to be, pulling her further than she is to the bag, and putting her in the right stance as flippantly as possible. "With your first two knuckles, clenched fist right before you land. Don't worry about power—you don't have enough of it. Aim for sensitive places: the ears, eyes, and throat." He shows her a jab, a hook, and cross._

_She's staggered by that advice and she's too stunned to see his look of irritation. "What? Won't that be—"_

" _Look," he cuts her off, "You wanted advice okay, I don't care if you use it." He goes back to assaulting his punching bag. Not another word uttered between them. She regards him skeptically but practices her strikes, attempting the right technique and she finds that her hand doesn't bounce back at her like it did before. Her fist hitting the bag even makes a much more impressive thud._

_She wonders why Four didn't tell her the same thing? Why his focus for her striking was her knees and her elbows, as if a good punch to the throat isn't effective. Though, she's not sure fighting dirty is what Four wants her or her classmates to take with them; She can't help but compare her two instructors. Eric wants them to win whatever the cost, and Four wants them to fight even if it's to a bitter end._

_She practices the same two punches repeatedly, every so often looking down at her feet to adjust her footing._

_The next day, her name is higher on the scoreboard—boosted by some extra points before training even starts—and she beats her first opponent since she's started._

_She looks to find Eric, but he's not there._

Tris glances up as Christina calls her name, the two of them the only people in the shop—and Gabe, but Christina doesn't count him.

"I'm sorry, what?" Tris snaps out of her own head, blinking a few times as Christina gives her a look. She massages her knuckles, itching to get to the training rooms.

"What planet did you just arrive from?" The former Candor giggles, pulling herself to her best friend, her rolling chair nearly going too far.

"Sorry," Tris exhales sheepishly.

Christina hums, "You look cute by the way. I could never pull off that haircut." Tris is slightly obsessed with eyeliner—her only choice of makeup. Her eyes are piercing, clear sky blue.

"Thanks," Tris says. Christina always tells her the same thing about her hair. But it's not as if she cut off her long hair to have some cute haircut. She could no longer hide behind it, she could no longer stand the image of the 16 year old Abnegation transfer. She isn't that girl.

"So what's up?" Christina asks, one of the few times she opens the floor up to Tris. She's usually the one talking. Tris is more of a listener.

"Nothing. Finished work early. Had dinner, you know," Tris shrugs, clasping her hands to her thighs, hunching where she sits on Christina's chair. She's looked through three portfolios, her best friend is proud of the work she's been doing. A lot of people have been coming in to get a new tattoo.

New tattoo, new beginning.

"Mhm, where's Four?" Chris asks, her hands supporting her chin.

"You're like the tenth person to ask me that today," Tris comments flatly. Someone is always looking for him, shocked to find that she says she could help them if it's important. "He's fine." She doesn't want to go into detail. She's known Christina for nearly three years, and sometimes she's still too much.

"Okay," Christina says, not pushing. She's been trying to respect boundaries more lately.

"I wanted to ask you something," Tris looks down at her, already anxious of what her best friend will say.

"Okaaaaay," Christina narrows her eyes skeptically. "Before you ask, is hair and makeup involved? Cause if there is, the answer is totally yes."

Tris laughs, but shakes her head no. "I'm a leader, and Four has his tattoo, Tori has hers and I need to get mi—"

"Yes!" Christina shoots off her seat, pulling Tris into the tightest hug. Tris pats her back awkwardly, her arms pinned to her sides.

"You didn't even let me finish!" Tris chuckles as Christina backs away. "Sorry… were you not gonna ask me to give you your leadership tattoo?"

"No, no, I was. I just thought I'd get to finish my sentence." The blonde teases, making Christina wave her off.

"Who else were you gonna ask? Gabe?" She rolls her eyes.

The man in question looks up from where he's adding a new tattoo to the options anyone can choose from. "Ask me what?" He doesn't look up from his project, but they can see his serious expression and taut muscles from where they're sitting across the shop. It's one of the few times music isn't playing in the background and Tris curses the speakers for being out. Chris' has been complaining about it to maintenance for days. Probably just once, but Tris hasn't been around and doesn't care to ask her if she's just being dramatic.

"Tris is finally getting her leadership tattoo," Christina says, louder than she needs to.

His ears perk up at that, tucking a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. He has a septum piercing, geometrically designed tattoos running down both arms, streaks of pink and purple in his hair, the sides shaved. He keeps it up mostly but the colors are layered in a way that gives a cool multi-dimensional effect. The gauges in his ears are moderately sized, and they remind Tris of Eric's. She frowns, but quickly shakes her head, clearing away the thought.

Gabe gives her a nod, "Finally." He pushes the book he'd been working on away, leaning his elbows on the counter he stands behind. "Where you want it?"

"My neck," Tris says, unsure of her answer. She hides it well, holding her chin up and ignoring that Christina is staring at her.

"Yeah good luck, that's gonna fucking hurt." He says, tapping a rhythmic beat on the counter before turning around. "Lock up tonight Chris, I'm heading out."

"Will do," she replies, watching him walk around the counter towards the exit, "See you later dickhead!"

"Later fuckface!" He throws up a peace sign over his shoulder. Tris snorts and looks down at Christina, her friend's grin is impossible to miss.

"What?" Christina asks, immediately straightening her shoulders.

"Do you like him?" Tris asks, keeping her straight face.

"No."

"He's cute."

They both speak at the same time, though Tris is looking at her and Chris is looking at anything but her. "You do!"

"We're just friends," Christina chuckles, "His boyfriend Alex is okay too." Tris turns beet red and the tattooist can't help but laugh.

Tris snorts, "That's not funny…"

"Sorry, you're so red," Christina teases, making Tris throw a half hearted punch to her shoulder. "Don't worry, I could have a chance if they ever broke up. He's not gay, bi."

"So you _do_ like him!" Tris grins at her. It's fun to yank Christina's chain. Payback for all the times Tris has to deal with her prying about the dirty details into she and Four's relationship.

"Kind of," Christina sighs, "but it's feels too soon." She looks down, opening the portfolios, "Oh, I loved doing this one. For Harrelson I think. They blur together"

Tris simply puts her hand on her shoulder, giving a soft smile. Christina's eyes tear up and this time it's Tris who stands to pull her into a hug. She crowds Christina, wanting to protect her from the pain of losing her loved one. And then she's forced to strike down the guilt.

Chris doesn't push her away, so she forces herself to relax. Her smaller friend tucks her face to her shoulder, inhaling sharply. When they pull away, they smile at one another.

The tattooist fixes her cap and sits down. "So, did you want to get something done tonight? Touched up maybe?"

Tris admires her ability to just push on through. The memory of her mother being shot in the street, her father sacrificing himself, she can't ever fight the tears when she lays alone at night and thinks of them.

She stops herself from thinking too much and just nods her head yes.

"Really?!" Chris asks excitedly, already grabbing her black gloves. "Like what?"

Tris takes a few moments to decide on her next tattoo and where she wants it. Looks at a few difference designs before she decides on a getting a simple tattoo on the inside of her left forearm—Something in memoriam, to her parents. Christina quickly but effectively waxes the hair from Tris's arm and smiles as before she begins to sketch the tattoo on the leader's skin; she switches to different sized markers and felt pens for different strokes and shadings.

"Why did you wait to tell me you could draw?" Tris wonders aloud, not looking at the drawing.

"I don't know, it never seemed fitting," she shrugs. She used to draw in the quiet of the dorms when she was alone, and sometimes when she would wander the compound by herself, she'd take her sketch pad and her pencils, sit on the roof and draw whatever caught her eye. Or maybe a portrait or two—Four and Lauren will be happy to know she's drawn them a bunch of times, along with Zeke and a bunch of different people morphed into one picture. She has more than a handful of Will's portraits. She can't find it in herself to throw them out, every one of them feels like a memory. "My parents used to joke that I'd join Amity just for the supplies."

Tris laughs, resting her face the palm of her free hand. "Not for the bread?"

"God no," Chris cackles, finishing up the drawing on Tris's forearm. "Okay, if you don't like it I'll draw something else up. But I think it goes with—"

"My ravens." Tris concludes, eyes already tearful. It's not a complex drawing by any means. But the single feather, _Mom_ and _Dad_ flowing in a loop through it makes her smile. She looks at her best friend, nodding her head. "Let's do it."

"Sweet," Christina beams, turning to her station to grab her tattoo machine. Tris puts her head down, left arm outstretched as the session begins. Chris is gentle, focused. Tris tucks her chin and watches, exhaling through the nagging pain of the needle to her skin. Chris gives her a smiling, knowing. "Big tough girl, huh?"

Tris hides her smile, "Shut up, and tattoo."

Christina snorts, dipping back into her cup of black ink. "So, what have you really been working or are you just avoiding me and the guys?"

"Both," Tris says, her tone flat no one else could decipher the joke. But Chris knows, evident by her chuckle and soft smile. "Just been busy. That's all."

"After tomorrow it'll only be worse," Chris comments, wiping away excess ink. She continues with her careful linework. Tris can tell she's much happier down here in the Pit than she is anywhere else. She's been hiding down here actually.

"Yeah, but worth it, I think?"

"I think you're doing what you can with the shitshow Max left behind." Christina offers, purposely only pointing the finger at the tenured, dead, Dauntless leader.

"Thanks Chris," Tris smiles, hoping Christina understands what all she's being thanked for. They sit in comfortable silence. It didn't take Christina long to get to shading the feather. Tris just watches with bated breath, wanting it to be perfect for her parents. She's not sure they'd be thrilled about the ink permanently etched into her skin, but it's a tribute from Dauntless—one Natalie is sure to understand.


	9. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schmello!
> 
> Warning for bad words and the mildest of lemony...ness. Lol. I'm debating if I should change the rating. But I'm so bad about determining what warrants an M rating.

The room spins as she does, dancing to the music pulsing throughout all of Dauntless tonight. Tris doesn't have a care in the world tonight. The pulsing of her neck where her new tattoo sits is down to a dull throb, alcohol providing adequate distraction. Tomorrow it's back to work, but tonight she's going to allow herself the happiness of the moment.

Christina's laugh is contagious, both women gigging like two girls at their first party. They've danced with everyone to offer by now, Uriah and Christina put on quite a show.

Tris spots Four standing at the bar, holding it up as he talks to Lauren and Zeke. He looks back at her, offering her a small smile and a salute before downing his shot. She raises her beer by the neck of the bottle, returning the nod of acknowledgment. Does it look as awkward as it feels? She wonders.

"I'm going to the bathroom!" Christina yells over the music and Tris barely nods before her friend is disappearing into the hoards of people.

Tris extends her arms over her head, stretching whilst simultaneously swaying to the music. She can feel the beat in her veins, pulsing around, taking away any care she has for the eyes on her. Slowly, people have realized she's not the same girl who used to care about what anyone thinks. She's Tris, a Dauntless leader, third chair in the New Council… and slightly tipsy at the moment.

And that's how she finds herself walking towards where Four stands with their friends. Lauren is more his friend than she is Tris's and everyone who cares to look, knows that. The rumor mill hasn't quite started back up, they're lucky.

The bartender nods at Tris, already swapping her empty beer bottle for a fresh one.

"Congratulations Tris!" Zeke says, clinking his bottle to hers. He's always the first to speak in awkward situations. Usually she's grateful for it.

"Thank you." She's full of pride in herself today, and it's a good feeling, allowing herself to be happy for something she's earned. Finally it feels like she can enjoy making it into Dauntless. Ha, two whole years later.

Four stiffens when she wraps her arms around him and rests her head on his shoulder. Zeke doesn't miss the look of confusion in his eyes nor the burning rage in Lauren's.

"Got some moves, you and Christina." Zeke sticks his tongue out at her teasingly as her face become flushed.

"Gotta dance with someone since Four, doesn't dance," she says, her voice deepening to mock his stern tone. He snorts. It's the first time in a long while, he's laughed at something she's says.

"You just have to get him really drunk." Zeke jokes, knocking back a large portion of his beer. Beer and the Dauntless is a match no one will ever be able to break. Drinking is like breathing in this faction. Tris never thought she'd enjoy it but…

Lauren snorts bitterly, catching all their eyes. Four looks away taking a drink. "We were just talking about you," Lauren says.

"I'm sure you were." Tris comments flippantly, voice airy. Four and Zeke nearly choke, taken aback by her attitude. Tris is almost never rude. Firm, but never rude. And it only took three years to get her there.

"Girl gets her tattoo and becomes a hardass," Lauren jokes, smiling. She doesn't care if Tris is the only one to react, that's the point. Four is staring straight ahead, Zeke turning away, elbows on the counter. "Congrats." She salutes, fake smile etched onto her untraditionally beautiful features.

Tris hums sarcastically, unbothered. Lauren isn't going to ruin her good mood. She shakes Four's shoulders, "I'm ready to go." She hopes he understands her meaning because she really doesn't want to repeat herself.

She's never been good about accepting this new silent craving of sexual gratification. But he found the space for it when they were hiding out in Amity and then nothing. The well went dry.

She just wants to forget everything tonight.

He looks at her, ready to throw a deadly glare at Zeke if he comments. "Okay." He searches her face, trying to gauge if she's drunk or not. She's not, only a beer and a half deep, she's good about pacing herself.

"Okay." She kisses him quickly, catching him off guard. "I'm going to say goodbye to Christina."

"I'll see you guys later," Four says, heading towards where Tris has disappeared too.

"In a better mood, I hope!" Zeke shouts, hands cupping his mouth.

Tris says her goodbyes, Four simply nodding at everyone. They hook fingers together as they walk down the hallways, towards the bridge where they'll cross onto the pire. The path feels familiar, in the year they've spent together, it's forever burned into her mind. She looks at him, reminded of how handsome he is, his eyes so dark they could be black.

Her heart is thumping in her chest, and her head is unclear but she's frustrated and she can't pinpoint why. Tonight, she doesn't want to think. She knows what she's running from—deep down. Maybe she's always known and has actively forced it away. And it's unfair just how much it hurts. Today of all days. Four knows what's happening but he can't will himself to say it yet.

They have no business being together, not anymore. But like a glutton for self punishment, he can't find it in himself to let go of her hand. He kisses her on the temple as they walk together. The last few weeks have been challenging to say the least. Their frustrations with each other overgrown and apparent. But today is supposed to be about celebrating. So maybe they'll finally get through it.

For whatever reason, Tris has latched on to an idea she has of Eric. It grates on his nerves that she doesn't see him the way everyone else does—worst of all, she thinks she's hiding it well. And he's done his fair share of stupid things to get over it. But he can't push her away, not yet, not now. She'll see Eric for what he is, when she pulls herself from the fantasy she's living in.

Tris crashes into him when they get into the stairwell, arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressing herself close to him as she kisses him. Frantic, bruising, rough and angry. He mumbles something about the cameras but she doesn't care. Not right now. Not tonight. God, not tonight—let me just be...

She loved this man at one point—and part of her still wants to. Maybe she's overthinking. Maybe they'll be okay. Things are looking up, this can be better. It can be better—she chants the same sentence in her head like it's a prayer. Hoping, begging the universe to make it so.

Eric doesn't love her, she's his only friend. And she's projecting. This is real. Four is real.

Please, she begs.

She gasps as Four's presses her against the wall, his thigh between her legs. Her head is swimming, unclear from the sudden rush of arousal. She hasn't felt this way in a while.

He pulls away, brushing the hairs that have stuck to her sweaty forehead back, "Not here." He gives her one more bruising kiss, taking her hand and rushing them up the stairs.

They're entangled as he rushes to open his apartment door, her giggles as he struggles echo in his ears. "Give me the key, or we'll be out here all night." She opens the door and tosses his keys to his kitchen counter, and they nearly fly out the ceramic, burnt orange bowl. He wraps her up in his arms whilst kicking his apartment door shut behind himself. There's a million reasons they should stop, but they don't.

Leaving a path of clothing towards his bed, Tris allows his touch to clear her mind and his kiss fools her brain into thinking that any others don't matter. But another name tumbles from her lips in the end, and the last remainders of love between her and Four breaks in her hands.

It wasn't a dream, Tris realizes, when she wakes up in Four's bed. She clutches the sheets closer to her naked body and feels sick with herself, while smacking her hand to her forehead. Her skin is damp from the warmth of his body, wrapped around her like she'd disappear in the night. He wanders towards her in his sleep—her memory isn't foggy enough for her to have forgotten her blunder.

Four is asleep, his striking features muted. She wonders if when he wakes up, he'll know what she does; they can't continue on any longer, not until she can get a handle on the feelings for Eric that she's denied herself for so long. There's no way Four doesn't know. He always seems to understand things before she does.

Without thought, she presses soft kisses to his shoulder. The familiarity of waking up beside him, it softens the hardness of her heart. Doesn't change that this is the end, but she'll always be fond of the quiet, pure beginnings they come from. But this is the end.

She slips out of bed and picks up her clothes off the floor, cursing to herself when she can't find her bra. But that's because it's in the hallway, comically hanging off the bathroom door.

Tris looks into the mirror. And she's a mess. Her eyeliner is smeared, and her eyes are red and puffy. She needs sleep. A voice in her head screams that she should hurry up and leave, write a note and run but she's been avoiding this day like a coward. And it's time to stop. Splashing water on her face, she brushes her teeth with the toothbrush she's had here for the longest, tossing it into the garbage bin when she's done.

She looks somewhat presentable in her clothes from the night before. Her tank top and black pants. She wasn't feeling very dressy yesterday, as she'd been tattooed for hours. Who needs to be dressy to drink and dance?

Christina wasn't so happy about it.

Christina definitely won't be happy about this.

She hears Four before she sees him, putting on a pot of coffee in the kitchen. She flushes the toilet to prolong the inevitable—hiding in the bathroom for the rest of the day is impractical. After all, there's work to be done today anyways.

"Hey," she says when she seems him. His hair is going in every which way, golden under the light in the kitchen.

"Good morning," his voice is especially deep in the morning.

They're silent, the coffee maker being the consistent noise in the background.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

"I thought you left," Four begins, opening up the floor for her to speak. He's not wondering about what she said in the heat of the moment last night—he doesn't need an explanation, it's pretty clear. The breathiness of her voice is forever etched into his brain. He clenches his teeth. He's spurned by her wanting a man she can't have—that isn't even a deterrent apparently.

Tris bites her lip, "I'm sorry." The only thing she thinks to say in the moment. Her thoughts are jumbled and there's nothing to excuse. What can she say? Sorry, didn't realize how much I love someone who's not you?

Four nods, "How long?"

Her voice catches in her throat and she hates how easily he reduces her down to some wide eyed teenage girl. Sometimes even she forgets that she is in fact still only eighteen years old.

"I don't know," Tris enters the kitchen and presses her hands to her face, elbows on the counter while she sits. Four gives a noncommittal sound, sounding bitter.

"Convenient," he says, grabbing a coffee mug.

"You think I wanted this to happen?" Tris doesn't sound half as angry as she intends. Four sips his coffee. "You think that. That's what you think?" She exhales hard when she realizes her voice is raised and she's always the one to lose it instead of him.

Four shrugs, his cool demeanor only making her eye threaten to twitch. But he doesn't care. "You sure didn't run from it."

She wonders how he somehow always manages to make her feel inferior. She hates it. He's not who she once knew. He's not the same man who made butterflies rise from the pit of her stomach, or makes her hands sweat. The War has made him someone she doesn't recognize. They've both changed. And they're no longer pieces that fit together the same.

Having worked so hard to get here today and now, he can still shatter all of it with his furrowed brows and intense stare.

"And Lauren," Tris questions, unsure where the sudden suspicion comes from. But she feels it in her gut, knowing that she's right. The look on Lauren's face when Tris simply wrapped her arms around him was indication enough—and the woman's ever apparent envious tone. Tris would be an idiot not to see it. "How long?"

And it doesn't help him that Four looks as if she's just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. "It was just—"

Tris laughs, shaking her head. She puts her face in her hands, groaning. "Oh, god." Looking up at him, Tris feels like a confused child,"Who are we?"

She used to be so in love with him. And he's surely the reason she didn't get exposed during phase two of her training. But even then, Eric knew what she is.

The hell she and Four have been through as a couple, connected by former faction dependence, current standing, and tragedy. It's too much now. And she doesn't know what to do. But it's not this. "I can't do this," Tris says, waving him off before he can retort. "I've been avoiding the inevitable and I'm done. This is over."

He doesn't even respond verbally. They've both known. She wishes she didn't want him to try and convince her that this is wrong, that she can avoid her feelings for Eric, but he doesn't. And tomorrow she'll appreciate that he didn't attempt the lie.

"So that's it? You're just running?" Four catches her arm as she attempts to leave. "It didn't mean anything, just like Eric doesn't mean anything. We can fix this."

Never mind.

She pushes him back, as firmly as she can. "Don't. Don't talk about him. This isn't about him, it's about me and you." she says.

"Isn't it?" Four questions hotly, "It's always about him when it comes to you."

"We've grown apart," Tris says, ignoring the bait. "I can't talk to you." That's the truth of the matter. He just looks at her with his wiser than his years eyes and reduces her to a child.

"Don't say that," Four says, as if begging—begging for her to stay, for a second chance. "You don't mean that."

And usually, she's open to second chances, but he's given him chances. In the last year, they've both had the opportunity to overcome this strain between them, and it can't be done.

"Don't tell me what I mean," she laughs, though nothing is at all funny. "I said what I meant to say. I tell you something and you attempt to tell me what I mean."

"And Eric is so easy to talk to?" Four jeers. The judgement is so evident, she's surprised she hasn't started to melt under his stare. "It's time to stop Beatrice. I let you look for whatever you're trying to find. And now look, you're in love with him. What am I supposed to say to that?"

She looks at him, eyes collecting tears.

"You can't even deny it." He shakes his head, turning away from her, "I slept with Lauren. There. I can admit it. But at least-"

She snorts, the shock of hearing it out loud is only over casted by his audacity. "You cheated on me, whatever logic you want to use to justify it, save it. We are far from perfect together, but you slept with someone else. You're the only person I've ever been with. I didn't do that to you."

"And you're somehow better? Fantasizing about Eric while you're with me?" Four never yells at her but he's dangerously close right now. But she's not intimidated. "You know what? Go. He's gonna hurt you. But don't come back to me when it's too late."

"I'll never come back to you!" She dares to shout, not caring if all of Dauntless can hear, "You're free to fuck whoever you want now." She turns on her heel and heads for the front door.

He growls, throwing the nearby coffee pot against the wall. It goes flying past her head, crashing into the foyer wall. She looks back at him, shaking her head at him before she walks out the door. Tris tries not to cry, to not feel so embarrassed by her own shameful emotions. But here she is, tears clouding her eyes. Four can be so cruel without even opening his mouth, ten times worse when he does.

The truth of the matter is that Eric has never hidden his worse traits. This new Four, the judgemental, angry person he's become, she wants no part. Ending the relationship before it makes her someone she can't look at in the mirror is the right thing to do. Let whoever say whatever. She doesn't care. No matter the confusing emotions she feels, at least she can still live with herself.

They were truly horrible to each other leading up to this point. His fling with Lauren is evidence to that fact. And if she truly loved Four, how can she even be confused about her feelings for his enemy? She hopes they can live with themselves. Because no matter what Four says, she's had enough self control to keep her mouth shut about what she feels for Eric, and she's definitely kept it in her pants.

Tris squares her shoulders, wipes her eyes, and steps off the elevator. She nods at the approaching Dauntless as they walk by.

She's not going to let this break her stride.

* * *

She commandeers a Dauntless truck, not feeling the trains today. She's expected to have the truck back—one thing Amity doesn't really do—and so she's on a time constraint. Finding herself in the Erudite Apartment district—a couple blocks from the train Station—she takes the lift up to the third floor and fixes herself without a mirror.

(Her new tattoos itch but she wills herself not to scratch. It's been a couple of days and they're beginning to peel. Christina will kill her if she scratches and ruins them.)

The elevator dings and the doors open leaving her staring at the pale blue walls of the hallway. The hardwood floors creak as she steps off the lift. Counting the numbers on the walls, she heads to apartment 3c and knocks.

She hears the pitter-patter of tiny feet and laughter coming from the inside before the door swings open. Immediately she smells food.

"Tris!" The little girl screams, throwing her arms around her legs. "Mommy, Tris is here!"

"Stephie, what did I tell you about answering the front door by yourself?"

"But it's just Tris, Mommy!" Little four year old Stephanie is quite independent for her young age, and precocious. Her mother did her best to raise her on her own. She was nearing two years old when her father was murdered.

"Hi Elizabeth," Tris doesn't laugh like she wants to, the look on the older woman's face is quite stern and Stephie looks like she knows she's in trouble.

"We'll discuss this later, young lady." Elizabeth squats in front of her daughter, bopping her on the nose. "Go pick up your toys before supper please."

"How are you?" Tris asks, accepting the hug she receives as soon as the single mother stands and offers it.

"I'm well." Elizabeth sighs, holding Tris by the shoulders to push her back and get a good look at her. She hums at the new leadership tattoo, a knowing smirk on her face. "Right on time for supper." She says, giving a smile that crinkles her eyes. "Come on." She waves Tris forward, stepping into the moderately sized kitchen.

Tris straightens a picture on the wall, a family portrait. She smiles at the picture of Eric in a blue button down and slacks. His late father, Shawn, and his mother standing behind him, all their smiles wide. It was of course before Stephanie was born. But it's the only picture Elizabeth has kept up of just the three of them. Tris laughed the first time she saw it—unused to the image of a smiling, piercing and tattoo free Eric Coulter.

She gets a brief look into the living room; There are boxes of things littered about, Tris wonders what's going on, "Moving?"

"Mm, no," Elizabeth says, licking some mashed potatoes from the outside of her pinky finger. She wipes her hand on a sheet of paper towel before placing the bowl on the table. "Just packing up some things from the office. I don't use a lot of it anymore."

Tris washes her hands and dries them quickly. Her mouth waters at the sight of the roasted chicken on the counter, waiting to be cut into. But Elizabeth will tell her when she'd like them to sit and eat. She looks at the sink and starts washing the few dishes—a habit she's not going to shake from her childhood. Only back then, it was a chore. Now she welcomes the memories.

Elizabeth turns and stops, "You don't have to do that, Tris."

"I want to," Tris says. "How are things at school?" Elizabeth has been a lower levels math teacher since she was in her mid twenties. She's nearing 42 and still hasn't lost her passion for educating the city's children. It's proving to be a difficult time as the kids are still adjusting.

"The kids are struggling. But that's to be expected." Elizabeth replies. "Stephanie Elaine Coulter, you'd better be done picking up after yourself missy!"

"Yes!" Stephie's exasperated cry returns and Tris can't help but snort. "I'm done!"

"I don't know what I'm going to do with her," Elizabeth sighs heavily, sitting at the already set table. "Just like her brother was." She adds, muttering to herself more than she's speaking to their dinner guest.

Tris watches with a wide smile as Stephanie avoids where her mother is standing all together and comes through the archway of the foyer, "All done."

"Wash your hands please."

"Okay!" The child rushes to the sink, stepping up onto the stool to reach the knobs. She drops the soap bottle in the sink but quickly grabs it and puts it back. She washes her hands and climbs down, totally uncaring if she falls.

She reminds Tris of the young boys and girls that run around Dauntless. They keep the place full of life now when all the older people need their innocence.

Stephanie looks like her mother mostly, but both Coulter children have their father's nose and square jawline. Stephanie has her mother's pert nose and full lips. They're however, a family of natural blondes.

She beams at Tris, "Thank you," she says as Tris pulls out her chair and waits for her to climb up onto the chair before pushing her in.

"Sit on your bottom," Elizabeth instructs, coming around to make her plate of chicken, potatoes, and green beans which she hates but will eat if she wants her ice cream after dinner.

Tris says thank you as she's served her plate and watches Elizabeth's thinly veiling sadness as she makes her own. They sit in silence for a moment, two more chairs empty during the meal. Tris kills the time by eating, appreciating the flavors and the quiet.

She hasn't been feeling all that great the last two days since she and Four have broken up, time going by so slow. She feels like a part of her is missing. It hard to reconcile that even if they ended horribly, she misses Four's constancy.

Dauntless rules have been reviewed, interactions between factions as well. They're slowly preparing for next years initiation—should it come to be that choosing day indeed arrives, they're ready. Considering many people have left Erudite, there's concern that maybe some have returned to Dauntless. But no one has defected from Dauntless to Erudite in about three years. Uriah and Tris will take the Dauntless-Born as before. And Lauren and Four, the transfers. All of this decided by no face-to-face communication between Tris and Four.

They have discussed how to make initiations more difficult for dauntless members who are also divergent. It's a heated debate—is a more difficult training regimen warranted, does it become a kind of punishment for them? Is it unfair to treat them all the same? Knowing she had some advantages when it came to simulations, but that it didn't necessarily help her face her fears, she's unsure.

She's split her time between sitting in front of her office computer, corresponding with Caleb here in Erudite, and reviewing every possible file relating to Eric. And that's how she ended up here today. Some things aren't quite sitting well with her. Elizabeth wasn't called to the stand and she wants to know why. She'd avoided to the trial when it was happening and that plagues her conscience.

"I wanted to ask you a few things, if possible?" Tris begins, stabbing a green bean casually and biting into it.

"I figured as much," Elizabeth gives an easy smile, to display she's not offended by the idea Tris simply came for some answers. "I'd prefer it if—" she gestures to her daughter "—weren't forced to listen."

"Of course," Tris says, nodding as she reaches for her carbonated water. Erudite love making every possible drink fizzy. It's an addiction Tris thinks. She smiles to herself.

"Are you staying with us, Tris?" Stephie asks, awkwardly fighting a string bean into her mouth. Her expression scrunched and Tris can't help her snort.

"I would love to, but I have to go home," Tris answers. The little girl is beyond cute, her brows furrowed as she tries to rationalize the answer.

"You have to work like Mommy?"

Tris hums in the affirmative, setting down her fork. She hasn't gotten a chance to eat today and she's moments from just shoving her face. "I'm a leader like your brother Eric was, remember?"

Stephanie lights up at the mention of her brother. He of course had been going through his initiation when she was born. But becoming leader has its perks. And considering Dauntless-Erudite relations are so close, he often snuck over to meet with them. He's very fond of his little sister and she loves him too. She saddens, huffing. "I haven't seen him in a long time!"

Elizabeth rests her elbows on the table, pressing her hands to her eyes momentarily as the awful memory rushes to her head. As she drops her hands, Tris reaches to where she sits at the end of the table and gives her hand a squeeze. Elizabeth covers her hand and thanks her with an appreciative look.

"I'll tell you what," Tris inhales a calming breath, "The next time I go visit him, I'll tell him you said hello."

"And that I love him… tell him that too!" Stephie says, nearly bursting from her excitement. She has no idea how close Tris and Elizabeth are to bursting into tears. "Oh, I know! I can draw him a picture and you'll take it to him."

"I can do that." Tris says. Of course, she wonders if it will be allowed, knowing she's had trouble doing just about anything else. But she won't crush the child's hope.

They finish dinner and Tris helps clear the table and does dishes as Elizabeth puts away leftovers. Stephanie gets her markers and starts on her picture for Eric—dessert forgotten. She asks her mother how to write I miss you, Eric and Elizabeth writes it on a separate sheet of paper for her.

Tris sighs heavily as she and Elizabeth sit in the living room. The cream colored couches are comfortable. There's a TV set and bookshelves. She wiggles her toes on the light blue rug under the sturdy wooden coffee table. From where she sits, she can see down the hallway that leads to the bathroom and three bedrooms. She's been in Eric's room, Elizabeth leaves it mostly untouched save for when she does her dusting. Tris has slept in there, before the fateful day none of them want to relive.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but it's about Eric's trial." Tris begins softly. There's a lot Stephanie doesn't know about the whole ordeal, and Elizabeth explained it in a way she could understand. Tris doesn't want to make it all for naught. "You didn't speak at his trial."

"I did not," Elizabeth parrots, exhaling heavily. "I assume you'd want to know why."

Tris nods, "I would."

"Come with me," she stands and beckons. "Stephie?"

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Tris and I will be in the office, please stay at the table and don't draw on Mommy's table."

"Okay!"

Elizabeth leads her to the office door. It's right off the foyer. Tris walks in the room; the glass-top desk is the centerpiece. One wall is covered in another book shelf, encyclopedias and textbooks she's sure every Erudite family collects. There's a few boxes about, filed with various things ready to be put in storage. There's a single chair in the corner, like this is a room someone can come hide in to read. The window facing the street has a bench in it. She can see a grown up Stephie sitting there and reading or doing her homework. She walks over to it and looks out. The street is dead, cars parked on the side, the street lights on illuminating everywhere. She can't see her vehicle, as she parked in a garage and came right up.

She's pulled from her own thoughts at the sound of Elizabeth pulling out her rolling chair and powering on the laptop.

With a few keystrokes and moments, Elizabeth calls her over, "I know my son hasn't been in the best of situations since he became a leader. And leading up to my husband's death, it hadn't been so bad."

"What do you mean?" Tris knows the story. Shawn Coulter was a neurologist—with a special interest in behavior after surgery—at Northwestern Memorial, one of the few hospitals left standing that offers that kind of care. His work was important. And he often worked closely with Erudite researchers responsible for perfecting serums.

"You know, sometimes he would complain that he felt he was being watched," Elizabeth says, skimming through her emails to find what she's looking for. "You know the story. I guess Eric made a mistake and the next thing I knew, I was being informed that there had been an accident and Shawn fell down an elevator shaft in the parking garage at work.

"I didn't know at the time," Elizabeth explains, "And Eric wasn't allowed to explain to me, or of course, I would be next and Stephanie would be left alone." Both her and Shawn's parents have passed on, and didn't have any other children. "But I would notice people following me around, on the train, or when I'd walk to the bus from work. Once when I was picking Stephie up from daycare. I just thought I was crazy."

"And then the War," Tris concludes. "And Jeanine and Max were dead. A handful of people arrested."

"Eric explained everything the night he was arrested. He came here knowing he wouldn't have much time. He told me how like many others, Jeanine had convinced him divergence was a danger to society and what not. You know the spiel.

"Dauntless was given priority on serum research and technological advances based on the partnership and promise of carrying out Jeanine's murders." Elizabeth's eyes sparkle with tears as she thinks of the things her son must have seen or been forced to do just to keep the family he has left, alive. "Anyway…He'd threatened to out Jeanine as a murderer to the other factions after he grew tired of her holding us above his head. It took a lot out of him, the whole ordeal. He hadn't thought she'd actually follow through on her threat."

"And she killed your husband because of it." Tris sighs, shaking her head as she listens to the story.

"During the trial, I offered to tell the jury what I know… anyone really. But then I received this email," she points to the screen.

**_It's come to our attention that you're thinking of speaking in your son, Eric's trial._ **

**_Our plan of forcing Abnegation into extinction may have reached a bit of a speed bump, but we are not through. Considering your son cannot offer you any kind of protection from where he sits in a prison cell, you're being asked to reconsider helping him through this trial. We would hate to imagine all the accidents that could befall you if you choose to ignore this warning Elizabeth. A fall from down an elevator shaft is quite messy._ **

_**Think of your daughter and don't speak for your son, and you will be spared.** _

Tris feels her blood run cold. Closing the email, she doesn't even want to look at it. "Did you show this to anyone else?"

"Eric's lawyer," Elizabeth's brows scrunch. Of course she didn't keep this to herself. And she asked for discretion on Mr. Benning's part. "He said it was irrelevant to the case. Considering I've admitted myself that I've never been in a room with Jeanine as she threatened my son, and I wasn't there the day my husband was murdered, my truth on the matter is biased."

The truth serum only makes it difficult to lie. And what Elizabeth knows of the situation is hearsay.

Tris's head is spinning.

"Imagine that," Elizabeth finally allows herself to cry, wiping her eyes as Tris looks at her. "Even in death, my family is still under her thumb."

"I'm sorry this has all happened," Tris hugs her, feeling tears soak into the shoulder of her shirt. Her neck is sore at this angle but she can't be bothered.

"They killed my husband, and pinned years of wrong doing on my only son," Elizabeth cries, shaking her head. She knows Eric is not a saint, but she can't imagine he wants this. And she can't even go see him. "It's not right."

Tris pulls away and smooths the older woman's hair down, brushing it behind her shoulders, "No, it's not. But I'm gonna fix this."

Elizabeth allows a soft laugh, "How?"

"Well, I'm going to find out who sent this, and put it to bed." Tris says, "and then I'm getting Eric a retrial where this can be discussed. There was no mention of Jeanine's blackmail in the original case."

"I've spoken to the Candor, Joshua Benning, and he's said there's no point in reopening."

"Do you know where I can find him?" Tris asks, she doesn't like what she's hearing.

"I have his direct line to his office. I'll get it for you before you go." Elizabeth inhales, wiping her eyes.

"We may have to get Eric another lawyer," Tris comments, biting her lip, feeling fueled by this new information.

"I can't—"

There's a knock on the door, before it swings open. "Mommy, I finished my picture."

Elizabeth draws in a deep breath before looking up, "That's great baby," she opens her arms and Stephie comes running, "Can I see it?"

"Here," Stephanie offers the picture and Tris inconspicuously closes the laptop. She slides it back as Elizabeth sets the picture on the table.

"Oh, it's so nice," Elizabeth pulls her daughter into her lap. "You drew a heart and colored it so nicely."

"I made an oopsie so I started over." Stephanie says, looking back at her mother. Thankfully she doesn't register Elizabeth's puffy, red eyes. "You can have that one, Mommy."

Tris and Elizabeth laugh.

Tris looks at the drawing and clutches her hand to her chest. It's a big heart, the words I miss you, Eric in big bold letters on the bottom of the page. They're lopsided and the heart is uneven. But she was careful to keep the colors inside her black lines of the heart and the words are separated properly.

J"He's going to love it, Sweets."

Tris backs away and sits in the window; looks at the mother and daughter, and smiles. It's unusual to hear the Erudite use nicknames. But Elizabeth doesn't seem to heed that very much. And Tris finds her heart swells watching how much she cares for her only child left here at home.

"It's bedtime," Elizabeth says, rocking side to side, her arms around Stephanie. She kisses her cheeks and Stephanie giggles.

"Okay." Stephie huffs.

"Say goodnight to Tris," Elizabeth lets her down and the toddler runs towards their Dauntless guest.

"Oooh!" Tris playfully groans as she lifts the little girl into her arms and accepts the hug.

"Goodnight!"

"Goodnight kiddo." Tris squeezes her tight before putting her down and watching her run out the room.

"Go brush your teeth!" Elizabeth yells after her.

"I'll make this as painless for you as possible," Tris says, going back to the topic they'd been discussing. "Now, I can have two dauntless patrol men with you at all times…so I need to know, has anyone else tried reaching out to you? Anything feel wrong?"

"You can do that?"

"Yes," Tris says without hesitation. There's no one that she'd let stop her, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"I believe you'll try to keep us safe." Elizabeth says, offering a smile in good faith. She hums, "But no. No, now that you mention it, I've felt safer after the trials. I've just been thinking about this—knowing I have it and Benning thought is was irrelevant."

Tris nods in understanding. "It's late," she sighs, standing. She moves to the desk, picking up the laptop. "Can I take this? I'll have it back to you as soon as I have someone look at it."

"Sure, I don't use it. I have a desktop at work that I use. This was Shawn's." Elizabeth says. "Analyzing the email I'm assuming?"

"Yeah… I'm sure everyone's been caught. But I'd just feel better confirming that." They leave the office and Tris makes sure to grab the picture Stephanie drew. Elizabeth gets her the number she needs. She hugs Elizabeth, the two women holding tight. Tris pulls away. "Don't talk to anyone, Elizabeth. Anyone shows any interest suddenly, tell me." Elizabeth nods and Tris hugs her again, smiling as the mother of two kisses her cheek.

"Get home safe."

"I will." She lifts the laptop and waves it. "I'll bring this back. Promise."

Elizabeth laughs and opens the door for her. "Tell him I love him," she inhales deeply.

"I will."


	10. Nine

Tris presses her hands to her face, groaning loudly as Peter works; growing impatient.

"You don't have to stay you know? I'm not gonna break the damn thing."

"I don't want to go back to my office." She stands behind his chair, arms folded.

"Oh, Four's there, huh?" Peter says, typing away as he logs into his computer. He wasn't chosen for leadership and that bothers him still sometimes but he finds that he likes all the gadgets in the Dauntless control room. And he imagines this is much more fun than patrols. He always had a knack for computers. Plus, if being stressed over their factions affairs is the reality of being a leader, he definitely doesn't need that.

These two haven't always gotten along—he was a bully and she didn't respect him. But he drew the line at taking out whole factions. And she really needs someone to help her with her current problem without them going to blab to the whole faction. He doesn't have many friends—none that ask too many questions. They only gossip about what they saw on the surveillance cameras.

Speaking of which, she's thankful no one has brought up seeing her and Four hook up in the stairwell.

"Not that it's any of your business…" Tris grumbles, "But yes."

"Yeah, he's in a shit mood today. Saw him and Lauren arguing on the monitors earlier." Peter waves to the exact computer he means and she doesn't care to look.

Her chest hurts from the thought. She's unsure why she's so upset, because she was unfair to him. But it would be a lie if she said she'd been prepared to hear he's out and about with Lauren. She and Peter aren't _that_ close. She's not going to air it all out to him.

"I don't care, Pete." Tris sighs, "Breaking up with someone means no longer having to care about who they're arguing with in the hallway."

"That's true," Peter wags his finger at her as he finishes gathering all the possible equipment he can potentially need. "So, is this one on the books?"

Tris looks at him with serious eyes and her tone tells him she means business. He folds his arms and she chuckled to herself a little. "...this is on me."

He whistles as he rocks back in his chair. "Fine by me."

"Good." She logs into the laptop and opens the email in question. "I need you to find out who sent this."

"An ema—oh, _wow_." He says, cheeks puffing as he reads the contents. He recognizes the last name listed in the information boxes at the top. But says nothing. He doesn't care enough to ask if this is real.

"Can you do it?" Tris asks, hoping she wasn't wrong to come to him. Zeke would have asked too many questions. And would probably go back to Four and tell him his fellow leader is still looking into Eric's affairs.

"Find an IP address? pft easy." He says, cracking his knuckles as he begins his work. Tris takes to looking around the room. She finds the personal affects everyone has at their stations to be rather adorable. Pictures, trinkets mostly.

Everyone is out to lunch right now, and there's about half an hour left.

"It's encrypted," Peter sighs.

"So that means…?"

"Someone went through some extra annoying steps to make finding them an extra annoying job," Peter says and she can hear him roll his eyes. "But it's fine."

"I really appreciate you doing this for me, Peter."

"Yeah!" He's not bothered, and he quite enjoys being useful. He's grown a lot in recent years. And he's doing what he can to separate himself from the image he so stupidly committed to when he first pledged himself to Dauntless. "Just remember this when I fuck up and need your help." He glances over his shoulder and she laughs.

"You only get one favor sir," She wags her finger at him.

"So Jeanine really killed his dad, huh?" Peter wonders aloud. It didn't take a rocket scientist to read the threat in the email. "I remember when the news broke that a doctor fell down an elevator shaft."

"I don't remember. We tended to not read Erudite's reports."

Peter can understand that. The relationship between the factions has been strained for years. He even played at it during their initiation.

"All the adults talked about it nonstop for weeks," Peter went on, recalling. It wasn't often that news from one faction was discussed in another—but a death like Shawn Coulter's was a pretty big deal. "Yeah, I'd do some pretty fucked up things to make sure my mom wasn't like… pushed in front of a train or something. Faction before blood, be damned."

Tris didn't want to think about it. "Are you almost done?" She asks, changing the subject.

"Just started," he snorts. "Just relax. I'll be done soon and you'll have an IP address… and if you're nice, I'll tell you where to go from there."

"Sorry. Just.. anxious. I don't like this."

"This explains so much actually. Why she didn't speak, and probably why he was convicted." Peter says. He's not Eric's biggest fan, but he didn't find his teaching methods all that wild or evil like Four believes.

"Yeah," Tris nods. "You can't tell anyone about this Peter."

"I know, Tris," he says, looking her in the eyes. "I won't."

"Swear it," Tris adds, and he doesn't hesitate.

"I swear. I won't tell." He says, and he makes sure she can tell he does mean it. She nods at him and he looks back at the task at hand. He follows the usual channels and gets past the presented problem. "Will you ask for an appeal?"

"That's the hope."

"Good, I hope you win." Peter says. "You know, I'm sure there are a good amount of people in his corner. No one in Dauntless can really point a finger."

"That doesn't really stop them, does it?"

"Damn, you're right." He continues on with his work, starting a trace. He's quiet for a moment, the only sounds come from his fingers hitting the keys.

"You know what you're doing?" Tris finds herself asking, and he laughs sardonically.

* * *

Tris feels uneasy. Elizabeth hasn't been harmed physically, and it doesn't look as though that should be a worry any longer. Considering it's been 7 months and she's still living, and hasn't noticed anyone following her, Tris is positive it was one of Jeanine's goons who threatened Elizabeth from the very beginning. Those men and women responsible are facing life in prison, or already dead. A Karl Hennig to be exact, who's no longer breathing—shot at the fence trying to flee. Where he was going? That's beyond Tris and everyone still residing in Chicago.

So it's good news, kind of. But Tris doesn't like reaching dead ends. And something still feels amiss. It can just be that she'd been looking forward to grabbing the poor sod by the throat, looking them in the eye before acquainting their face with her fist.

This doesn't feel like the end. And Peter wasn't sure either. There's something going on.

Walking into the Justice building in Candor, Tris swallows down her nerves and walks directly where she knows Candor Lawyer Joshua Benning's office is located. She doesn't stick out as much here, her full black garb is a little less noticeable in a sea of black and white. Leather leggings in the late autumn heat maybe wasn't the best idea, but her tank top leaves her tattoos on display while providing a bit of a reprieve.

Her boots crunch loose marbles of gravel, calling the attention of a Dauntless Patrol. Some look at her in question and she smirks before pressing her index to her lips. They look away.

There's no security in this place that Tris isn't ranked higher than; as their Dauntless leader, she's obviously their superior.

She spots a few familiar faces amongst the Dauntless, none of which she can remember by name—which is probably bad. She can tell they're confused by her presence. What reason could she have to be visiting a defense attorney?

Tris can see all the curious faces looking at her, but she squares her shoulders and carries herself with the confidence of a leader, unbothered by the attention on the outside. But she knows this is just fodder for gossip. People will jump to their conclusions no matter the topic anyway.

The outer walls of every office is made of glass—with shingle-blinds that alternate between open or closed—and she can see the dark-haired man sitting at his desk in the office she's heading directly toward, his feet up and sitting back in his chair. He's on call with someone, and quickly rushes to end it as he sees someone coming towards his office. Tris knocks as announcement, not permission to enter and swings the door open.

Joshua Benning is in his mid-thirties, but the few subtle lines in his face are only noticeable if someone really looks. The bridge of his bulbous nose is long, but perfectly straight. His expression always seems a little mischievous, accented by his naturally occurring smile, the fullness of his lips focused in the center of his mouth. He's unmarried by design, too focused on work.

It came as a shock to him losing Eric's case… or at least, his expression had suggested as much when the verdict was read. Tris is naturally suspicious of him, and the lack of an immediate appeal. And especially now, when the death penalty has been shot down? It feels wrong. And the Dauntless in her goes off the feeling in her gut, the Erudite wonders why.

He folds his hands on the table, smiling up at her. "Tris, I presume? You're early. But you did sound urgent on the phone—please sit."

Tris called, as soon as the threatening email had been settled. "Hi, busy?" She asks, noting the files sitting about the desk. His paper calendar—old school but not completely shocking—is littered with pen markings.

"You've caught me on a slow day, actually." He watches as she sits down, hands clasping as she regards him with her silent skepticism. "You have some questions about Eric's case?"

"Just a couple," Tris shakes her head. She doesn't want him to think she's here for an interview. But she is serious about getting her answer about a pressing question. "Why didn't you call Elizabeth Coulter to the stand?"

His amenable expression falters and he gives a dry chortle. "I'm not sure we should even be discussing this."

"I can go to Jack Kang and he can go through the proper channels. Would you rather explain yourself to him?" She asks, grit in her tone. He looks at her then, expecting her to back off. But she won't. "Why did you tell her that her truth is biased?"

"Because it is," Joshua says, his angling of his face makes some strands in his pompadour shift down into his eyes. And he takes a hand through the wild strands. He exhales hard. "I understand and appreciate the morbidity of Ms. Elizabeth's situation… but it doesn't change the facts. She was not present during any of Eric and Jeanine's negotiations that obviously occurred. And she wasn't there for her husband's untimely accident."

"She has an email threatening her—they admit they're responsible for her husband's death. A jury should have heard it from her… Eric's hands were tied. He had to help Jeanine or risk losing his mother too." Tris argues. "Benning…you don't think the Jury needed to hear that Jeanine was threatening to take everything from him? You shouldn't even be the one deciding that."

"He was arrested on charges related to murder and treason against Dauntless, Tris… the facts are that he did those things."

"Did you show him? Did you let him know he could have been helped?" Tris asks, and she knows the answer is probably no.

Benning grows nervous then—she can tell by the way his fingers tick, itching to scratch at his wrist. Before she can open her mouth to berate him, he shakes his head. "I defended him with the best possible plan to winning. I argued our best bet."

"Which was what?! No defense at all! You had the answer the whole time!"

He folds his hands near his mouth. "You're never going to get him to go for a retrial." He is so confident in that, it makes her want to scream. He crosses his arms and sits back. "I'll draw up the paperwork if you really want it.. but—"

"So do it," Tris blurts. She doesn't know what she's going to say to Eric. But she can't stand this.

* * *

"So, what's new?" Uriah asks as he and Tris walk towards the edge of the roof, overlooking the dead street. She stops and throws her head back with a groan that makes him chuckle. It earns him a punch to the gut. "That's a tough one?"

"I don't know where to begin," Tris admits. They sit on the ledge, straddling the cold cement as they face one another. He sets down a case of beers at their feet. He takes one, removes the cap easily and chucks it over the side. She takes the bottle from him, folding her fingers together as he opens his own bottle. "There's been a lot in the last couple days… As you know… Four and I broke up."

"I wasn't gonna bring it up." Uriah shrugs. He used to be much nosier than he is now.

"So you _have_ heard," Tris's brows lift and then drop again as she tilts her head in forfeited irritation. "I suppose I expected that."

"I mean," He huffs, "I figured you'd want to talk about it one way or another."

"What?"

"You two were together for over a year. I guess that's a long enough time to be upset when it's over." He laughs when she looks at him confused. "I just mean, you're getting better about not bottling your emotions."

"Abnegation…"

"Yeah yeah, you're not used to it still."

"I've been practicing." She lamely defends herself. She can't help but laugh at herself. "I let him have it when we argued."

"You did not!" Uriah calls her bluff and she deflates. "I bet it was one throwaway comment."

"It was," Tris doesn't even try to say he's wrong. "He had me on my back leg most of the argument."

"It was bad?" He asks, taking a swig of his aged beverage.

"Better than worse," Tris says.

"What the fuck does that even _mean_?" Uriah bursts into a peel of laughter, making her snort. "I can't imagine you two were amicable."

"Huh?" She asks, "We totally could have been."

"But you weren't." He shrugs. "Can't bullshit a bullshitter Tris. You two could never have discussed your issue peacefully."

"Thanks doc." Tris snorts. She's not mad about his assumptive assessment, only because he's not entirely wrong. If she and Four had had healthy communication they would've been halfway through their rift. But they were two far gone. "The fire was gone." She says aloud and without meaning to.

Uriah arches one of his low set brows, "You really think that was the problem? Not getting laid every night?"

"Pedrad!"

"You didn't deny it." Uriah laughs. She blushes like mad and he can't help the giggle he lets out. It makes her stick her tongue out at him.

"So if you're the expert, what was the problem?"

"You love Eric. His sworn enemy." Uriah says it so simply, as if he's just reciting what he saw on the weather report.

Tris nearly downs her whole beer instead of replying immediately. There's a long pause and she suddenly can't look at her friend. He's the only person she's told just how confused she's been. "There's a lot going on."

"I get that. But don't lie to yourself about it," he says.

Her brows furrow. "That's not… don't make it—ugh. Okay. I didn't mean for any of this to go down the way it did."

"I know that. I don't get it. But it's not any of my business. I just don't want to see you get h-"

"I'm not gonna get hurt," Tris cuts him off. "And I really wish no one ever says that again."

He swallows down his urge to back down. He can be just as stubborn as she is, "This is gonna get really bumpy. Whatever you're gonna pursue. It's gonna piss some people off."

"what do you think I'm gonna do? Break Eric out?"

"No. That would be stupid. And you're far from stupid." Uriah says, "You're gonna keep fighting for him. And now that you and Four aren't together… he's gonna fight you tooth and nail." He knows because Zeke brought it up. Four is convinced she's pushing to get Eric released. "All he'd need is support from Tori and they'd put it up for a vote…"

"Dauntless leaders are elected." Tris shrugs. "They chose me."

"And all of that can change. I'm not saying I'd ever change my vote. But there's no telling what could happen."

"Dauntless don't like being lied to."

"No we don't," Uriah shrugs. "But some are quick to anger and being irrational. I know there are people who would support Eric's release but there are people who would go after him."

"They'd have to go through me."

"You _would_ say that." Uriah smirks. He sighs. "I guess I'm fighting too."

"I can convince Chris to join." Tris is joking along with him but she knows his sentiments ring true.

"You think something foul is going on? With Eric I mean… his first trial? He did the things they said, didn't he?"

Tris feels a knot form in her stomach. "Not all of it. He was left in the dark about a lot of things. He'd never admit to that—being a pawn. But yeah, there's a lot Jeanine and Max just discussed by themselves. She killed his father."

"I remember that," Uriah recalls. "But you know… people fall."

"Down elevator shafts?" Tris quirks a brow. And he shrugs. It's true. It wasn't like anyone would believe a doctor in good standing would be murdered.

"So Eric was blackmailed? I didn't know that."

"I can't believe it wasn't brought up," Tris sighs.

"He could only talk about what he's asked. And if they didn't want anyone to hear that—wait… why wouldn't he bring it up?"

They look at one another…

"Pride." They say in unison.

"He could have been killed." Uriah squeaks.

"I know," Tris shrugs.

"And you saved him."

"I knew there was something we didn't know. And it was down the rabbit hole."

"So… have you told him?" Uriah asks as he chucks his empty beer bottle off the side of the dilapidated building.

"You shouldn't do that you know?" Tris lightly scolds and he just rolls his eyes. "Told Eric...what?"

"That you love him… duh…" Uriah rolls his eyes. "Are you being obtuse on purpose…?"

"Ooo, obtuse." Tris teases.

"Shut up, I read." Uriah sucks his teeth. "Answer the question."

"No," Tris breathes, "I haven't. Doesn't change that he's in there."

"But you'd say it and it would be out there."

"He knows." Tris grabs another drink and pops the cap. She places she metal cover on the ledge.

"How do you know?" Uriah asks, not letting her off the hook. " _I_ know… you haven't but you'd rather not know what he feels instead of him saying he doesn't care at all."

"No…" she shakes her head. "I don't care. I can't force—"

"Oh cmon, Tris!"

"Fine!" Tris hollers. "I'm terrified that he'll laugh in my face."

"First of all, he'd have to be a complete and total idiot to do that. And you and I both know he's not. He's like a genius," Uriah shoves her shoulder gently and then points in her face. "And two, there's no way he doesn't even like you a little bit. He didn't kill you when he had plenty of chances."

Tris snorts, "wow, the bar is low."

"Don't be a pansy, tell him how you feel."

"You know, I didn't ever think you'd be the one advocating for this."

"He wasn't ever that bad, dude," Uriah admits. "Only people who really hated him took everything Four ever said about him too seriously. Eric was the quiet type of leader. I mean, you can ask around about his training but there wasn't a lot out about him. Didn't have too many friends. You know."

"The year after our initiation was quiet when you think about all the stuff going on in the background."

"Yeah, but I guess that's questionable now too." Uriah shrugs. "But you know him."

Tris laughs, "you're the only person I know who would say that to me."

"What? Like you don't go see him every day? You have to know something no one else knows."

"Actually you're the one person who doesn't judge me."

"What am I gonna say to keep you from going? Only you know what you guys are to each other at this point. I'm not gonna pretend that whatever it is doesn't make me wonder. But it's not my place to try and stop you." Uriah has never been one to concern himself with the affairs of others to the point where he feels he can command them. He's just into the gossip sometimes. There's so much going on all the time he can't fault her for finding an escape. Even if it's weird.

"Part of me thought you'd never talk to me again."

Uriah laughs. "Why? Cause of _Four_?"

"Well, yeah." Tris says, chin dropping slightly.

"He and Zeke are best friends," Uriah muses, "I like you better."

She laughs, "Thanks." She brushes her hair out of her face, messing it up a little. A breeze blows by, tickling her nose. The weather's starting to change, cooling from an unfortunate summer. "I don't want it to be weird."

"It's already weird. But who cares?"

"I do," she almost whines and he laughs. "We still work together."

"Is he really focused on you right now?" Uriah asks with an obvious question in his face.

"What are you getting at?"

"There's so much going on, I don't think he's focused on your break up. Lauren is driving him nuts already."

Tris snorts, wiping her face. "I guess you're right. I'm just… overthinking it and I said I wouldn't."

"I think you're taking everything surprisingly well. I mean everyone was acting as if the world was ending not even a month ago."

A chuckle reverberates in her chest and she shakes her head. "Why are you like this Uri?"

"Just born with it I guess."

"I cried today," Tris admits openly. But not really intending it. "I had a moment on the train coming back from Candor."

"Oh," he swings the leg hanging out over the ledge. His heel hits the side of the building and gravel free falls from the bottom of his boot. "Nothing wrong with a good cry… but what were you mourning?"

"Everything," She exhales. She doesn't ever really allow herself to ugly cry. It's a foreign feeling, being out of control of her emotions, and she doesn't like it. "I almost lost it on who I went to see." Honestly, she did.

He notes that she was blatantly not telling him something—who she went to see. But he won't ask and really he could make a deduction but he doesn't care to. "They would have deserved it."

Tris cackles, nodding. "They would've."


	11. Ten

Tris looks up as she hears a knock on the side of her office door. Tori stands there with her hands folded in front of her. "Are you busy?" She asks, toe of her boots lining the floor, her head down.

She's momentarily caught off guard seeing the older woman standing in front of her—speaking to her. "No, I was just going to leave for lunch."

"Oh, it can wait then I guess."

"Wait…" Tris stops her. "We can walk and talk." She stands from her desk. Pushing her chair in, she heads for the door.

The older woman nods and they exit into the dead hallway.

"We need to talk about how this is gonna work," Tori begins, "If you're gonna take this seriously now..."

Tris is again taken aback. "Meaning…"

"Do you plan to get in my way? Cause let me tell you something… this is not the council meetings." Tori's tone is airy, but Tris knows what she means—she's not going to get her way. And if Tris plans to be trouble, then, she'll do what she can to get Four to turn as well.

"What are you talking about?" Tris asks, the two women reaching a winding staircase, stopping there. "I just want us to get the faction moving towards being normal again."

Tori stares at her. "No, you're obsessing over Coulter. And I'm not gonna let you waste time and resources—"

"Where is this even coming from?" Tris stops her, "I haven't proposed anything but better security for the factions—creating jobs and purpose—and I agreed with you on keeping the point system the way that it is." And that's the truth when it comes to her job. Tris uses her free time to focus on Eric and the details of his case. "So I don't know why you're bringing this negative attitude to me right now Tori. And besides that, you and I have never had issues until recently."

"You're defending the man who—"

"Eric _didn't_ kill George," Tris cuts her off. "I understand that you want someone to pay but Eric didn't push him into the Chasm. Eric wasn't even in Dauntless when George was going through his initiation. And you know that. You gave him his tattoo!"

The regime that killed George was alive and well. Tris can understand Tori wants to blame someone. But she won't let Tori act as if it makes sense.

Tori stares at her for a long time it seems, fists balled at her sides.

"George never got justice," Tori says, eyes bleary with emotion. It's the same look of sadness Tris remembers the first time Tori told her what happened.

"Punishing the wrong person for his death isn't justice, Tori." Tris says. "The person responsible for this, Jeanine is dead."

"How can you trust Eric? He's been involved with so many lies," Tori says, the anger that usually blazes behind her dark eyes is down to a dull look of pain. She knows she's been projecting her pain, but it's easier to be angry now when her original suspicions of foul play have been confirmed. But she knows using Eric as a scapegoat won't help her heal. She just can't get past the lies.

"He was protecting his family." Tris says, answering simply.

"Faction before blood," Tori replies just as quickly. "He used to say that. _Another_ lie."

"You would have done anything to protect George," Tris argues. "If you could go back, you wouldn't do whatever it took to keep your brother alive?"

"I wouldn't sell my soul to the devil herself to do it." Tori is unrelenting to that point. Tris nods once. She knows she'll never get Tori to agree but she hopes the older woman can at least understand. "Tell me what you know then," Tori adds. "C'mon, you're so certain Eric deserves to get out—tell me why."

"Jeanine killed your brother—she killed Eric's father and threatened his mother and sister."

"That was never proven," Tori says. She's heard the rumblings, and she'd denied that it tugged on her heartstrings. But she remembers being a young woman, how close she and her brother were. She can't imagine losing a parent to the war on divergence.

"So, you heard…" Tris says.

"You want him released on technicalities and sentiment," Tori argues. "He's saying he cares _now_ … you took death off the table and the next step is his release. Eric knows that."

Tris laughs bitterly shaking her head as they descend the staircase. "That's not true. One conversation with him and you'd know that's not true."

"He's playing you."

"No, he's not!" Tris yells angrily. "Do you remember him as some evil person-"

"I don't know what to believe about Eric. And I don't care if you want to fight for his release. But I'll never accept it. I'll never believe another word that comes out of his mouth. You should be careful." Tori stares at her with her arms folded. "You and me won't have a problem as long as you put the faction first. For too many years we were used as pawns on a much larger scale of ignorance. And as much as I hate to admit it—We may have to work together."

Tris pauses, expression scrunching. "Now I'm confused."

"I know you and Four broke up… and even a blind man could see you were having your problems."

Tris snorts, shaking her head. They make their way towards the cafeteria. They climb to the raised platform where the leaders sit above and enjoy their meals. Food is set out at the center of the three tables. Tris doesn't usually eat up there. But Four usually does. And he's nowhere in sight. It's just them there today.

The mess hall is full of people throughout lunch hours. It's louder than usual today.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." Tris bites, folding her arms on the table. Tori grabs a plate and starts to fill it—going for a burger and fix-ins.

She pauses, quirks one of her thin, straight brows and stares at Tris for a moment, "Relax. I don't really care if you and loverboy are together or not." She looks around, noting that she doesn't see Four. "But I just have a feeling…"

"This is about the council meeting…" Tris deduces.

"Four and obviously Evelyn knew the factionless were sick and didn't say." Tori goes on. "What else do you think he hasn't told us?"

"I was there when she took us to see the sick—he was just as surprised," Tris says, shaking her head. She finally goes to attack some lunch.

"You heard them at the meeting," Tori says. "You saw his face when you said she knew and didn't say. They played you."

"No," Tris disagrees. "Four wouldn't—"

"Fine… maybe I'm wrong… I don't think it would kill us to keep an eye on Evelyn. She has it out for you—not that she shouldn't." Tori adds smugly, looking down.

"Don't say—"

"You already thought it." Tori shrugs. "I'm just being honest. Look, you and I have our differences… since the day we met, you've been doing the opposite of what I tell you. Do I complain? No. I'm just warning you… like all the other times. Watch your back."

"What are you asking?" Tris asks in exhaustion, the conversation is going in circles.

"I'm telling you to be prepared," Tori says annoyed, "Haven't you been listening to what I'm saying?"

"You're kind of hard to follow right now," Tris says, voice raising slightly. "You just sprang a lot on me." Though, she can't lie and say she's not glad Tori is even speaking to her. For days, she's been locked in her office alone—feeling disconnected from her fellow leaders. She has an inkling that Tori is just looking out for her own best interest.

Tori snorts, shaking her head as she bites into her burger. She speaks with her mouth full "Well look, the way I see it, if shit hits the fan, I'd rather have you on my side." She admits it freely, swallowing thickly, "People will follow the woman who saved their lives. It's inevitable."

"I'm not a prop." Tris replies flatly, brows scrunched. "But I get your point."

"Good. We'll stick together if we have to."

"Four and Evelyn won't be a problem. If anything… Four would stop her before she ever got out of hand."

"I'm glad you see the good in every situation, but let's be realistic—he's probably just as capable of deceiving you as Eric is."

Tris exhales hard, openly spurned. "Eric isn't lying to me. And Four isn't being used as some lackey in Evelyn's evil plot. You're letting what's happened recently color your judgment."

"So, what are you doing looking into Eric's trial?" Tori asks, looking equally as bothered.

"What? That's not the same." Tris says, shaking her head. She places her hands on the table, heart beating hard in her chest.

"You wanted to believe he was targeted-"

"He _was_." Tris cuts her off. "You've all but admitted to it…" Tori is quiet, and Tris gives her a look, shrugging her shoulders. "Listen… we'll get along if we don't discuss Eric's case. And let's leave it at that. And if it makes you feel better—fine, I'll keep an eye out for suspicious behavior on Four's part." Part of her hopes Tris is just being paranoid. She's trying to not think the worst of Four. They broke up and he did cheat on her but it's a big jump from bad relationship history to evil plots. "Okay? I'll do my part for this faction…"

"Then we'll be fine," Tori holds up her hands before reaching for her lunch again. "Glad we had this talk."

They finish their meals in silence, both looking around the large room. Groups of friends are lively and talking amongst themselves. It's nice to see people trying to move on. Tris is glad life in the faction hasn't been more chaotic than she remembers it ever being.

Tori finishes eating first. "So, it looks like we're gearing up to initiation again. Everyone's preparing for it."

"Without an Erudite representative?"

"They'll have one by the time we get to aptitude testing." Tori replies, "I've spoken to Jack and Johanna about it, the seat is open if someone steps up for it. And we're going to enforce curfews—"

"And what? Force pledgers to go back home?"

"If we have to," Tori says, looking at her. "They're our doctors, teachers, researchers, they need to go back to living like we were before."

Tris feels her spine tingle with apprehension. It's been happening for a few days, starting with looking for defectors in their own faction, but she knows why they have to. "If we leave Erudite to be abandoned we're setting a precedent…"

"That they're all guilty," Tori continues. "Exactly… they tested Erudite. They _are_ Erudite."

"So who's going to be their representative?"

"For the time being? They have no options. Their head researchers will report to the council and we'll keep an eye on their projects. Dauntless will have strong presence there. I'm putting together a roster. Any suggestions?"

Tris shakes her head, she can't deny that it's a good working idea for the time being. But she's not sure how long that will work. "And what about initiation?"

"We'll put some of the older members who have volunteered to oversee the initiative period." Tori says, "between you and me, I don't think anyone will be choosing to transfer to Erudite."

"Do we trust them not to screw with our serums?" Tris asks suddenly, feeling her eyes bug when she hears her own voice ask the pressing question. Tori seems just as shocked to hear that her fellow leader has that concern.

"We've cleared out Jeanine's followers," Tori says confidently. "They were all so confident in their ignorance they all but volunteered to be slaughtered."

Tris winces, images flashing in her heard based solely on Tori's choice of words. "So we're in a wait and see period."

"And that's why we need to be prepared for anything." Tori replies, folding her arms on the table.

"I don't want to ever discover the ways we'd live without that faction," It's a dark implication she makes—how an entire faction would be wiped away and how they'd move on. There would be no way to do so. They'd be stuck without the brainiacs. And it's scary to think about.

"They aren't the faction of standing they're used to being, it's an adjustment they all have to make. Or—" her lips make a flatline as she shrugs.

"Let's hope for the best."

"You do that. I'll stick to preparation for the worst."

* * *

Eric sticks hands in the same slot his meals are given to him, hands cuffed together in moments. He swallows thickly, shuffling away from the slot when he's cuffed. The wall of his cell slides open, and Doug—his perpetually obtuse guard—is standing and waiting for him.

"I've showered already," Eric says, fishing for an answer to his question— _what's going on?_

"Just walk dude," Doug has always tried to be commanding but always sounds as if Eric should just behave to spare his sanity. He threateningly waves at Eric with his baton, the electrode sparking menacingly. Eric eyes the weapon with pointed disgust.

"Threaten me without the help, Dougie." Eric prods with his chin. He knows the man well, the older guard is Dauntless trained as is every guard in the prison. Dauntless are all around. "Where's Jacob huh? He get the promotion?"

"Shut up," Doug hits him with the chargeless end, making Eric growl. He's not stupid enough to fight back. One day he'll get angry enough. "Your lawyer is here."

Eric stands up straighter, interest piqued enough to ignore the discomfort in his spine. He spits at Doug's feet. He didn't ask to see Joshua, and he knows immediately that Tris has something to do with this. "Prior." He shakes his head, but something in his heart soars—the other constricts. This won't end the way she hopes.

He's lead past the few other cells in the hall, through corridors, past the main cell block and into visiting areas. The doors buzz before they slide open, and he sees his lawyer sitting at the table in the center of the room. But it's Tris who makes his expression light up.

She exhales deeply and he can see the restraint in her movement as she walks over. She never takes her eyes off his. When she stops in front of him, she looks at the guards with him, "Take the cuffs off."

Doug looks at her like she's sprouts another head and a tail. And she repeats the command. "Prior—"

"Tris…" Eric mutters warningly. She's going to burn bridges here and then he'll never see her.

"Don't make me repeat myself Doug," Tris says, brow quirked. The guard huffs but steps forward and lifts the watch he wears to the lock of the cuffs, they release and he removes them.

"I hope you know what you're doing." Doug mutters. Eric is tempted to punch him. But he knows how stupid that would be. It would be worse for Tris than anyone else.

Tris stares at Eric as he rubs his wrists. As he looks down at her, she throws herself at him. He wraps his arms around her after a second of shock. He locks his arms together around her waist and buries his face in her neck. She melts into him without caring of being in a room with countless cameras, guards and Benning.

She hides her face in the crook of his neck, holding her elbows where her arms are wrapped around his shoulders. She needs to just hold him for a few more seconds for this to feel real. She doesn't care who doesn't like it. He holds onto her like she's his lifeline. She wants to cry but she doesn't.

Tris pulls away from their hug, a smile nearly splitting her face as Eric snorts. He rolls his eyes but still lifts his hands to cup her face in his hands. She closes her eyes.

"I told you to stop," Eric says, thumb rubbing under her eye. She snorts and opens her eyes, a ghost of a smirk playing at her lips—there was a time he really would have been mad she disobeyed an 'order'.

"I have something for you." She says, pulling him towards the table. She shows him the picture Stephanie drew him.

Eric brushes his fingers across the drawing, looking at Tris. "You saw them? How're they?"

"This is hard on them Eric." She says, knowing he'll appreciate the truth. "They love you and wanted me to tell you."

He tries not to be emotional about it. But fails. He quickly wipes his eyes, head down. It's hard to face the truth—leaving his faction of birth had been expected. It is the way their society functions. But this was out of the ordinary. Never being _allowed_ to see him was hurting them.

Eric looks down at the heart, reads the words and can't help his smile. His little sister, her innocence…

Benning clears his throat and rises from his seat to round the table.

"Hi Eric," The Candor says, extending a hand for Eric to shake. "It's been a while. How're you holding up?"

"Better than anyone would have hoped, I'm sure." Eric replies, clearing his throat. He puts away his sister's drawing, inhaling deeply as he folds it and tucks it into the pocket of his pants. His brow quirks softly as he exhales with a shake of the head.

"Let's sit, huh? We have some things to discuss." Joshua ushers them to sit around the table, Eric only swings one of his feet across the bench to sit down, one arm on the table. He sits facing Tris and the nearest exit—the guard standing and waiting for him to do something dumb.

"What's going on?" Eric asks, shoulders hunched. He looks to Tris, he can feel her nervous energy. "What did you do?"

"I had some questions about your first trial," she sees no point in lying about it. Last time she saw him they talked about her getting him out. "I meant it when I said I'm getting you out."

He shakes his head just as she's about to open her mouth to speak, "Tris..." He covers his face with his hands, counting down from 5 to try and control the emotions swirling around in his head. But she pushes before he's ready to talk about it.

She breathlessly asks,"Why wouldn't you want to at least try—"

"I said no!" Eric bellows passionately and she stares at him as if he stabbed her. He softens as her defiant expression pairs with tearful eyes. "Why do you care so much?"

"Don't ask me that…" she says strongly. "You know why… you _know._ I.. Y-you get an appeal."

Eric knows what she wanted to say and stares at her even as she looks away. He takes her by the chin. "What?" She doesn't look at him, and he pulls a little harder. "What were you going to say?" She finally looks into his eyes, brows creasing as she looks at him. "Say it."

"That's enough…" comes Doug's voice in the background, "I'll cut this short, I swear to god."

"Shut up!" Tris dismisses him, and Eric looks back over his shoulder—hand still holding her chin.

"I screwed up." Benning finally says, changing the subject.

Eric's attention snaps in the opposite direction and he's looking at his lawyer then. "I beg your pardon?"

"I screwed up."

"No, I _heard_ you… what the fuck do you _mean_ you screwed up?" Eric leans forward, "is this not your job?" He stabs his finger to the table top. "You fucking screwed up? I'm sitting here cause you _screwed_ up?"

Tris stares at him, knowing he's never voiced not accepting he's here because of his own actions. But the look on the lawyer's face—the fear—leaves her feeling more than a little smug. Eric knows what he's saying.

"Show him." Tris commands, and the Candor springs into action. He pulls out a tablet and taps on it. It's a high tech kind of thing she's sure costs a ridiculous amount of points instead of a regular— _old world_ — laptop. Eric squints and reads _the email._ Eric's blood runs cold, but anger courses through him. Tris grips his forearm when his fingers twitch. "Karl Hennig sent it. The house at the main address assigned to him was condemned after the War. He's dead."

"My mother gave this to you?" Eric asks, glaring at Joshua. "You had this… and didn't tell me about it?"

"I defended you with—"

"That's not what I asked you, Benning," Eric shakes his head. He's breathing evenly, schooling his anger. "My mother… they threatened my mother and no one bothered to tell me." Tris looks at him—of course that's what he cares about. They could have used it to build some context for his actions, but he doesn't _really_ care about that. They _directly, boldly_ threatened his family. And his lawyer kept it from him. "Don't give me the I'm a Candor and I can't lie bullshit—did you set me up Benning?"

Joshua tilts his head ever so slightly and looks stunned by the question. "No," he answers, knowing he's telling the truth. "Why—"

"He's gonna fix it," Tris cuts in adamantly. "And you're not spending another day in here." Eric glances at her, chuckling. Her certainty is assuring.

"I can file a motion for relief from judgement, with that comes requesting a retrial," Joshua says, using maximum effort to cover a nervous stammer. Gone is the bold man who defended himself when Tris questioned him days ago.

"They'll throw out the verdict based on this one thing?" Tris asks, wanting to know the odds.

"Justice Byers is a stickler for her perception of fairness. This email is big enough to at least open the door for a whole other set of questions Eric didn't have the opportunity to answer," Joshua combs a hand through his own hair before pressing his thumb and index to his eyes. "If she feels the jury should have at least heard you? Then she'll grant the motion."

Tris is tempted to out him—to put him on the spot and make him answer for what he said when she asked him why he kept it from Eric. But she just stares at him, and he looks back at her as if he knows exactly what she's thinking.

"I'm not sure I want you to do anything for me, Benning," Eric says. He watches as the older man holds his breath. Tris looks between them, examining the open expressions on their faces. Eric is the man at the obvious situational disadvantage but it's Joshua who's on his back leg. Eric inhales, exhaling as he looks away. "File the motion," he says with a wave of his hand.

It takes a lot of effort on her part to keep from squealing. Tris looks to the nearest guard. "Set up transport."

* * *

Elizabeth holds Stephanie in her arms as she rushes across the street. The Justice building is always flowing with people, but she has to be in court to see her son and it's looking busier than usual. She rushed to get herself and her daughter ready that morning—narrowly missing the bus as they ran across the street to board.

"Mommy, where are we going?" Stephanie never got the chance to sit in the courtroom and see any of the proceedings during her brother's trial. Elizabeth had been too emotional—there would have been no way to corral the child, and Eric didn't even want her there. This time however, she was determined to be there.

"We're here to support your brother."

"We get to see him?!" She asks, shouting her question.

Elizabeth adjusts her hold on her daughter, fixing her on her hip as they walk inside. "Yes but we have to be quiet okay?"

"Or they'll take him away?" Stephie asks, pout already placed on her face.

"No, but we'll be asked to leave. And we don't want that."

"Right!"

Elizabeth stops a guard, "Can you tell me which courtroom is Justice Byers—"

"Keep down this hallway, it's the second courtroom past the bathroom."

"Thank you." Elizabeth sets Stephanie on her feet and they start to walk. "Best behavior Stephanie Elaine…"

"Yes Mommy," Stephanie says, holding her finger to her mouth. "Shhhh."

Elizabeth snorts, pushing their way into the courtroom. There are more people than she'd been expecting to see. On both sides of the room, Dauntless members are sitting in the rows, all of them looking interested. The Judge—an older woman with salt and pepper hair sits above the rest. She sees Four and bristles, remembering just how he'd looked at Eric with so much hatred, how he still does.

Elizabeth spots Tris sitting in the first row behind where Eric sits gazing off at nothing. Elizabeth feels Stephie tug her towards them.

Tris exhales and smiles, opening her arms for the little girl to climb into her lap. "Hi."

"Hi." Stephie whispers back, her childlike wonder making Tris smile.

Eric can hear them and knows he can't turn around to look but he exhales in relief.

"Your honor, a jury convicted Mr. Coulter of murder and crimes against the factions." The woman representing Dauntless—Mia Gregory—is a promising young lawyer. She's passionate about her job, her win rate is in the high 90s. And she detests Joshua Benning. Her white button down shirt is crisp and her black slacks are the deepest shade of black in the room. She's wearing a bowtie. "This is a waste of the courts time and resources."

"Well, hold on Miss Gregory…" the Justice holds up her hand, pen between her fingers as she looks down at her desk. "On what grounds are you filing this motion, Mr. Benning? Your client was convicted by a jury of his peers over 7 months ago."

Tori grits her teeth, folding her arms. She can't bring herself to look anywhere but the wall ahead. Being here was supposed to make her confront her anger towards Eric and call it what it was—inflated.

"New evidence, your honor." Joshua replies evenly, and Eric looks up at him, fingers over his mouth to hide his reaction to the bending of the truth—cardinal sin to the Candor.

"What new evidence?" Mia asks, "I wasn't—"

"A letter sent to my client's mother."

Four looks across the room where he sits as far away from Eric as possible. He scoffs as Tris looks at him.

"You're proposing I throw out a verdict based on a letter?" The judge asks skeptically.

"I respectfully request that you take a look at it," Joshua says, and Tris and Elizabeth fight their urge to scoff. There's quiet murmurings among the other onlookers. He hands one copy of the email to the bailiff and the other to Mia.

"Your honor, this only speaks to Mr. Coulter's motive." Mia says quickly after scouring it. Eric rolls his eyes but doesn't look over. "After reading this, he would have had another reason—if he even needed it—to commit his crimes."

Eric scoffs, making a face, mouth flattening as he sits back in his seat.

Benning looks at the presiding woman, "Justice…"

She holds her hand up, "I don't necessarily disagree with you Miss Gregory," Justice Byers says calmly after the few moments It takes her to read. The threat is clear and it leaves her with unanswered questions. It doesn't change everything. But it changes enough. She exhales in disappointment. "While I detest your actions Mr. Coulter and I strongly believe you made conscious decisions with no help from Jeanine and her followers, it's unbecoming of the Candor to not extend to you the opportunity to explain and tell the full truth. Only after that should a verdict be given in your case." Eric feels his heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing to his ears as his adrenaline spikes. "So I'm granting your motion for release of judgement—vacating the previous conviction in which retrial is forthcoming."

Gregory squawks, voice lost, as she stares at the judge. There's an unexpected roar from the Dauntless that Eric would never have expected. He turns then, seeing the faces of happy and unhappy faction members. Four is staring at him, expression hard.

Joshua takes the moment as an opportunity, "Your honor I request my client be released upon his own recognizance—another day spent in confinement would only—"

"So ordered," Justice Byers drawls unhappily. She looks at Eric and his openly stunned expression. "The defendant will wear an ankle monitor and be confined to his faction. Breaching of the Dauntless zones will result in immediate remand. Do I make myself clear, Eric? You are also in no way, shape or form to have any contact with any member of Abnegation… same consequences apply."

Eric nods once, in too much shock to give a verbal reply.

"Opening arguments will commence in one week's time." Byers looks to Joshua, "I expect you to have your defense in order this time around Benning." She eyes the lawyer, glasses drawn down on her nose. He swallows thickly and her suspicions are all but confirmed. "I don't know why you'd take the risks you've taken with your clients case—nor do I pretend to know his motivations for letting you… but I don't take too kindly to surprises."

Joshua nods, feeling everyone's eyes on him. Normally he thrives with attention, but not today—not with the implications made. "Yes… noted, Your Honor."

"Very well, we're adjourned then," she says informally and the room rises as she knocks the gavel and exits the courtroom.

Eric turns to see his mother and sister just as Benning pats his shoulder. That doesn't register, only their faces. He just jumps the partition and gathers his mother in to his arms. Elizabeth sobs in relief, clutching her oldest child, kissing his cheek happily.

"Don't cry mommy," Stephie says sweetly, reaching for her mother. Eric takes Stephanie from Tris as she stands there tearfully and watches. They did it.

But she has the strong feeling that whatever is going on, they aren't done with it.


	12. 11

* * *

Getting a moment to himself has been quite the task for Eric. He hasn't been locking himself away in his apartment, as it's one reminder of the status he once held in his faction. He's been relegated to a much smaller space, as if his former apartment has been condensed down to look similar but clearly different in importance, empty space. His old apartment was torn apart while finding evidence against him was proven to be futile the same time. He'd never been dumb enough to let anything related to Jeanine into his home—for one very obvious reason: he's always known he'd be caught. He had not been naive enough to believe Jeanine did not find him utterly replaceable.

Benning speaks of Jeanine and her followers more than Eric wants to hear. He knows—painfully so—just how much of an open book he will have to be now that the blackmailing has come to light. And now he knows he will see his mother and sister sitting in the courtroom when the new trial begins, his stomach has been in knots.

" _It's going to be simpler Eric, with the whole truth," Benning sighs, throat dry and scratchy as Eric sits near the window, the fire escape taunting him. If he runs, he's a fugitive with very little options. Joshua is still very awkward with his client, a failure for the first time—unprepared to face the truth, he'd intended to manipulate the situation and it backfired. "You just have to be honest."_

" _I'll have no choice," Eric spits bitterly, gritting his teeth angrily. "_ _ **You**_ _better be honest."_

_Joshua clears his throat, reaching for the glass of water Eric offered him when he first appeared at the door. "I can't do my job if you don't trust me."_

_Eric sends a harsh glare in his direction, pointing his fingers at him—still holding a cigarette. "You chose to keep information from me."_

" _You showed no interest in defending yourself," Joshua argues weakly; he knows it's an unfair ploy considering he hadn't been completely forthcoming once Elizabeth had come forward. It had been from his own pride that he believed he could win without the extra help. It was wrong and cost Eric his freedom._

_Eric grunts in acknowledgment, laughing almost at the absurdity of his attorneys accusatory glare, and his haughty tone. "You didn't tell me there would be actual proof to back up anything anyone said. It was a waste of time."_

" _Let's not waste any more of the time you've been awarded," the Candor reaches for a common ground—they both want this to be over._

_Eric considers him, flicking the butt of a cig out the window._

So he comes up to the roof, where the sound of the wind, the whistling against trees and buildings, is his only company. And there's no judgment. No forgiveness either. He just sits, with his box of cigs that he bought from the pit—ignoring the tentative glances he gets from Dauntless.

(The auxiliary high from the win in court wore off rather quickly. He's either regarded with tentative respect or overt un-comfortability. There's no in between and he despises both looks considering that underneath it all there's: _**pity**_.)

"Those are bad for you, ya know?" Tris mutters, finding Eric sitting on an abandoned rooftop. She knows the place well now after years of being in the faction. He smokes a cigarette—his third—the orangey flickers turning to grey ash after being ignited with another long puff.

"I know," he says, tossing the spent cigarette butt to the gravelled rooftop floor. He crunches his boots over it, the heavy ankle monitor gleams in the moonlight. "I quit… I am quitting."

"What are you doing up here, huh?" She asks, sidling up beside him. He shrugs and so she just remains quiet, not wanting to push.

The last couple days have gone by in a blur and she hasn't been as attentive as she has wanted to be. Though, she knows he's has to be happier with having time to adjust on his own.

"It's a little bit of freedom, being up here alone," he brushes a hand over his head—allowed to let his hair grow back, it's starting to feel like he's getting his own autonomy back too. Soon he'll go back to his undercut… maybe. Or something completely different. "No ones, staring at me, waiting for me to just fuckin' lose it." He looks up at her then, watching the unbridled shock his honesty has caused her. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that—we _talk_ , Tris."

"I just… I don't want to crowd you." She can't afford to be too close to him, not when he holds all the power to crush her heart in his hands. As much as she hates to admit it, Tori got to her a little bit.

"You've been avoiding me," Eric says, "I get it, I guess. I don't know—the last few times you came to see me… I was really trying."

She'd like to pretend she doesn't know what he's talking about. But she could tell he'd slowly let her creep her way into his life, world, heart. Hearing him acknowledge that there had been a marked difference makes her heart skip a beat. "I'm sorry," Tris breathes out. "I guess a part of me doesn't know how we're supposed to move forward now."

"You mean now that I'm not an inmate?" Eric chuckles drily. They're ridiculous. The whole situation is ridiculous. "Look, Tris, I get it. If getting me released was some kind of way for you to—"

"I care about you," Tris says, cutting him out. She looks up at him, unsure of what else she can say now.

There's silence then—after she lets out her initial squeak—and he hunches forward, annoyed at himself for letting his irritation confront her instead of a calm mind. He looks at her then, knowing she's going to shell up. "I'm sorry."

Tris reaches out, taking his hand and bringing herself closer to him, brings his hand to her mouth to kiss his palm, near his thumb. Eric watches her as her eyes close and she holds his hand near her face, warming his skin. He's been up here a long while, not even realizing how long. "I care," she reiterates.

Deep down, he's known that for months. There's no way she's dedicated _months_ of her time fighting for his right to live, and to not care. "I wanted to be mad at you," he finds himself saying. And instead of looking wounded as she may have in the past, she just looks at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to continue. "For not letting me act as if I don't care about what happens with my life now. I just… I forget what it's like to just…" he growls at himself for being unable to put into words how he's feeling. There's no need for wit, or slyness, just honesty and acknowledgement. "I don't know what's going to happen. At least before I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life in there."

"I will help you figure it out," Tris squeezes his hand, "We'll get through this retrial, and then we'll go from there."

Eric can't help the quirk of his lips into a soft smile. He reaches up, cupping her flushed cheek, sliding his hand to her neck and pull her closer. Gentle lips press a firm kiss to her forehead and she sighs, eyes closed.


End file.
